Sticks and Stones
by KLMeri
Summary: Sequel to Many Bells Down; Riverside 'verse AU. Khan is hell-bent on destroying everything and everyone James Kirk cares about until Jim surrenders the most important person of all—himself. K/S/M. - COMPLETE
1. Prologue

**The new year is almost upon us! Update: The fairy tale _Of House Guests and Winter Twins_ was finished and posted in early December. There is now a standalone one-shot for the Riverside 'verse called _Her Boy_. I also did a 2011 fic recap and writing meme (writer-klmeri. livejournal. com/ 137435. html) if anyone is interested.**

**With that said, I will give you this teaser/prologue for the continuation of the Khan saga in Riverside. Happy New Year's, everyone!**

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><p><strong>Title<strong>: Sticks and Stones (1/?)  
><strong>Author<strong>: klmeri  
><strong>Fandom<strong>: Star Trek AOS  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Kirk/Spock/McCoy  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own ST or its character or even its alternate universe characters. I am merely entertaining myself – and a few others –with them at no expense.  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Sequel to **Many Bells Down**; Riverside 'verse AU. Khan is hell-bent on destroying everything and everyone James Kirk cares about until Jim surrenders the most important person of all—himself.

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

The hard and bitter truth is what breaks Jim Kirk.

* * *

><p><em>"…speak now or forever hold your peace."<em>

_The double doors to the church crash open as if on cue and simultaneously the wedding dives into chaos. Standing tall at the beginning of the aisle, Jim cries out sharply, "Gaila! You can't!" Around Kirk, people begin to pour inside the building heedless of his intentions, of his warning, as though he opened a floodgate; they uproot the pews, tackle the security guards, and swarm the room, fighting until all sense of peace is drowned by violence. Somebody screams; voices rise in an angry clamor. "Ours!" they are saying._

_Across the room stands a woman in white, the red of her hair faintly visible beneath a veil. She seems frozen. Jim runs toward her, shoving past his enemies and his friends, past the hands reaching out to slow him down._

_But someone catches him, causing Jim to stumble. When he looks up, it is Spock whose hands are pressing bruises into the flesh of his arms. Jim tries twisting away from the man's steel grip, saying, "Let me go! Spock, _please!_"_

_"Hold 'im fast," comes the disembodied (once-beloved) drawl._

_Jim throws his body forward, his momentum stolen, but Spock is immovable like a pillar of stone._

_The words start up again: "…then by the power vested in me and in God…"_

_A shadow—a man in black—lifts the veil to reveal the face of the bride._

_"…I now pronounce you…"_

_Gaila is crying. Smiling._

_"GAILA!" Jim screams._

_The shadow man turns to look at Jim._

_"…man and wife," finishes the faceless preacher._

_It isn't Khan._

_Bile rises in Jim's throat like horror._

It isn't Khan.

_Trelane's mouth curves with a hint of his usual smirk, and he lifts a gloved hand to caress the side of Gaila's face. "Dearest James," the man murmurs with obvious nauseating excitement, "thank you for this lovely gift!"_

_Spock moves then, steadily drawing Jim backwards through the empty church. (When had it emptied?) Jim struggles weakly; his muscles feel too heavy, and he knows he cannot keep fighting. He begs instead._

_"Don't—please don't—let her go—oh god, _please_ let her go!—"_

_The back of his heel slips precariously off the top step just beyond the open doors; Spock is pulling him down the steps now, toward a landscape beyond which is grey and shapeless, a place Jim fears._

_The lights inside the church go out, and Trelane and Gaila become entwined outlines in the darkness, drawing closer together until they are a singular entity._

_"Jim," Spock says behind him._

_A shiver runs down Jim's spine at the flat tone of his name._

_"Jim," Spock repeats again, and the church wavers, fades._

_"Let go," another voice cuts in, vaguely familiar._

_Jim squeezes his eyes shut, teetering on the edge of his dream, and protests, "You let _me_ go."_

_Spock, surprisingly, does let him go. But Jim doesn't fall forward. Instead he falls into the sensation of a hand at the back of his neck and that sensation saves him. He shivers again and, in reality, opens his eyes._

Spock is looking down at him, brows almost pinched together in concern. The hand on Jim's neck is attached to the body his back is tucked up against—Leonard. _Bones_.

He blinks, his unadjusted eyes smarting at the bright lights of the bedroom, and grunts slightly.

"That was some nightmare you were having, kid," Bones says, pressing hard against him as a reminder to _wake up _and as an assurance of safety.

Jim rolls forward so he can sit up. Bones follows him. Spock steps back from the side of the bed to give them room. As Kirk sets about fixing the t-shirt twisted about his ribs (had he been thrashing around?), he repeats, "I had a nightmare?" Then Jim questions more slowly, "Was it—as bad as before?"

He doesn't have to specify what _before_ refers to; his nightmares after the fire that burnt the original diner to less than a hull were unforgettable, both because of their intensity and the fact they lasted for months before subsiding. But Jim thought he was past nightmares of any kind.

Spock answers, "No."

Jim sighs and shoves his fingers through his undoubtedly wild-looking hair. Meaning he didn't scream himself hoarse. Maybe they had managed to awaken him before that part.

"Sorry," he mutters, embarrassed, and stands up to go to the bathroom.

Leonard catches his hand with a plaintive "Jim."

He shakes his head. "Don't wanna talk about it, Bones." The dream—nightmare—is already dissolving into a hazy memory. He frowns, feeling it slip farther away as he tries to recall its details.

Leonard squeezes his hand. "You sure?" In the same breath, "Was it about _him?_"

Jim feels his mouth twist sardonically. "Which him, Bones?" His eyes flick over to Spock, who is not verbally pressuring him to talk but is still radiating curiosity and concern nonetheless. "Trelane, Khan, or Pike?"

McCoy's eyes darken and he begins to argue, "Pike —"

Jim breaks the physical contact between them and curls his hands into fists. "Pike," he half-snarls, "betrayed us."

Leonard closes his mouth, and a shuttered look comes down over his face. Jim considers his lover's carefully blank expression and hates the sick feeling of _told you so _in his gut. For a long moment, neither man says anything.

Then Spock purposefully shifts his position to the bedroom door, careful of the tension in the room, and offers to put on a pot of tea. Jim nods too shortly, turning away toward the bathroom again.

"Tea's fine, Spock." McCoy's agreement seems hollow.

Jim closes the bathroom door on Bones' voice and braces himself against the cold porcelain of the double sink. He fights off nausea by breathing through his nose for several minutes. Once steady again, he washes his face while ignoring the slight shake of his hands and the pallor of his face in the mirror and lingers a sensible amount of time in the bathroom.

The bedroom is empty when he returns. Spock will be in the kitchen; McCoy may be with him.

Or may not.

But Jim doesn't want to let his thoughts turn down that paranoid road.

He tries straightening the bed covers that had been flung every which way in the throes of his nightmare and retrieves the pillows which had fallen off the bed. Only then, despite his heart heavy, does Jim feel courageous enough to face the disaster that is his life.

He admits to himself that Pike's betrayal is not what killed his hope of saving Riverside.

It's Bones' betrayal which did.


	2. Part One

**Part One**

_One month ago..._

"What do you mean he tore it down?"

Leonard's eyes pinch at the corners, and his grim expression does not change as he studies Jim's white face. "Jim, what I mean is there's a big hole where the shop used to be."

Jim pales further. Because his legs suddenly feel unsteady he slides into the booth across from McCoy. "Bones," he says, drawing his shoulders in tightly, "what about Mrs. Giotto?"

"Khan obviously bought her out same as everybody else. Christine and I were on our way to lunch when I saw the bulldozers." Leonard plays with his napkin. "I thought you should know," he adds after a moment. "I'm sorry, Jim."

Jim rubs the back of his hand against his mouth and turns to look out the diner window. The parking lot is occupied by only four vehicles: Sulu's car, Winona's truck, Jim's bike, and the sedan belonging to the mother with the two kids in the booth along the back wall. The Enterprise hasn't seen this poor of a lunch crowd in—well, _never _, Jim thinks. Khan is doing more than ripping out the stores of Riverside. He wonders if the townspeople are afraid of what the Kirks are trying to do or afraid of what Khan will do to _them _if they make a show of support for ending Khan's massive "revitalization" of Riverside. Either way, his mother won't be able to keep the Enterprise's doors open much longer if she has no business.

"How did things get so messed up, Bones?"

There is bite to Bones' voice when he replies, "If you believe you're at fault here, kid, you can damn well toss those thoughts out the window. Khan is intent on absorbing us into his empire, and no one is to blame for that except _Khan_."

Jim loves Bones, he really does. He points out, however, "I did mess things up for you, though."

Leonard pinches his arm.

Jim gasps and cradles his injured limb, not quite gaping at his boyfriend. "What did I do?" he demands, poking out his bottom lip.

Leonard savors a sip of coffee before saying rather mildly, "I saw Nyota do that once when you were being an idiot. Always wanted to try it." He is not quite grinning.

Jim sinks further into the booth, making a point of keeping his arms as far away from McCoy as possible. "Uhura takes unusual pleasure in hurting me, Bones. You're supposed to love me."

Bones is obviously not going to deign his comment with a response. Instead Jim is scolded, "How, exactly, did you ruin my life, Jim?"

Jim tugs at his bottom lip. "You'd be heading up Khan's research facility if I hadn't—_Bones_, what are you doing?"

"Beating my head on the table."

"Well stop it," Jim says, annoyed. "People are staring."

"Sulu's staring, and he knows I'm crazy anyway." But Bones lifts his head and cradles it between his hands. "Sometimes," the dark-haired man mutters, "I think I really _am _crazy and this is all one long-ass, complicated dream—or somebody's horrible version of an entertaining story."

Jim has abandoned his side of the booth to sit next to McCoy. He softly knocks their shoulders together. "Guess what, Bones?"

"What?" deadpans the doctor.

"I'd probably love you even if you were certifiable."

Leonard looks up and considers Jim's innocent face. "You think that's a compliment, don't you?"

Jim leans in and steals a kiss then grins.

Bones rolls his eyes and shoves Jim out of the booth. He waves his hand in Sulu's direction. "Can we get some pie over here?"

Sulu, who is a chef and _not _a serving boy, narrows his eyes from the kitchen window. Nevertheless, Pavel comes out of the kitchen a minute later with two slices of pie. Except the kitchen boy doesn't leave once he puts down their plates but scoots into the booth next to Jim, his cheery face alight, and says, "Hikaru said I should tell you my story! He has heard it many times already."

"What kind of story is it?" Leonard asks suspiciously.

"It is about my father's mother's mother."

"And?" prompts the man, still suspicious.

Jim concentrates on putting pie in his mouth so he doesn't laugh.

Pavel's eyes grow round as he talks. "She is a, mmm, how do you say—a specter! Vhen I vas a boy, she vould join us at night for supper..."

Leonard's pie goes untouched. "You had dinner with a dead body at the table?"

"No! No no no, Dr. McCoy, she vas a _ghost_..."

Leonard closes his eyes briefly. "This is one of those Russian things, isn't it?"

Pavel rocks forward with the anticipation of story-telling. "Da! In Russia—"

Jim's hand sneaks out to take a spoonful of Leonard's slice of pie in the moment of distraction. He almost has the spoon to his mouth when a fork appears threateningly in his line of vision—and much too near to his gorgeous blue eyes for his liking. He uncrosses his eyes but the fork never wavers.

Leonard's free hand wraps its fingers around Jim's wrist. "That's mine."

Jim looks at the fork first, then at the spoonful of pie (so close, oh god, so close and it's _chocolate creme pie_), then at Bones. With a dramatic sigh, he releases the spoon and it lands upside down on the table. Leonard draws back with a "God_damn _it, Jim, that's wasting good pie!"

Jim shrugs like he doesn't care. "So I guess you don't want it now?"

At Leonard's disgusted look, he cannot help but grin as he meticulously scrapes the chocolate pie off the tabletop with the spoon and eats it. Across from Kirk, Leonard is going on about deadly bacteria and disease, and Pavel is at the part of the tale where the original Ouija board was invented in Russia. The only thing missing, Jim decides as he licks the spoon clean, is Spock drinking his tea and ignoring them all.

Forget going back to Jose's. He can return Bones to the clinic then seek out Spock. He doubts the workaholic has had lunch anyway, and Jim is never opposed to a second meal. Pleased to have a plan (though it may require some groveling to Jose later), Jim gives his boyfriend a very woeful look until they are sharing the rest of that slice of pie.

At some point Leonard says, "Thanks, Pavel, that was a great story."

The kitchen boy beams at his audience. "Da." Then, "Hikaru said you vould also vant to hear—"

"I'm going to kill Sulu," McCoy says darkly, jabbing his fork in the direction of the kitchen.

Jim squeezes Leonard's arm in sympathy but turns a smile upon his friend. "It's fine, Pavel. We have plenty of time."

Bones' moment of stubbornness passes into resignation then, and he murmurs with a sigh, "All right. Hit us with it." The look he cuts to Jim says _please explain again why am I playing nice._

Jim mouths back silently, _Love you, Bones_.

Leonard gives him a soft look and returns his attention to Pavel.

* * *

><p>Jim lets himself into Spock's house only to find it empty.<p>

"Spock?"

Bo Peep greets him by rubbing herself against his legs as he walks out onto the patio.

"Hey there, kitty. I guess you like me today, huh?" Jim says as he bends down to pick her up.

She leaps away and gives him a wary look.

"Or not," he concludes.

Spock isn't on the patio or in his study or in a bedroom. Jim ignores his second shadow (in the form of a small tabby) that makes plaintive _mew-mew_'s. He peeks into the garage to check again that Spock's Corvette is indeed parked there. Bemused, Jim sits at the kitchen table.

Bo Peep head-butts his boot.

He tries to pet her head. She bites him.

"Bad cat," he scolds, eyeing his bleeding finger. With a sigh, Jim drops a set of keys onto the table while searching for a napkin in his jacket pockets. Finding none, he gets up and grabs a paper towel; then he proceeds to wash his hands because, as Bones would say, who knows what kind of germs Bo Peep is carrying? He tells her this while he searches the kitchen for a band-aid:

"I don't need rabies, thanks very much. And I am going to tell Spock you bit me. He's going to be soooo mad at you." Which is untrue. Spock will likely ask what it is _Jim _did to instigate the attack.

Bo Peep's contemptuous silence is no doubt something she learned from her owner.

Jim rolls his eyes. "Whatever, Bo Peep. You just tell Spock I was here, 'k?" Sporting a band-aid painted with yellow ducklings (Joanna had thought they were cute, so why couldn't she have taken them back to Georgia with her?), he puts the antibiotic ointment back in a drawer and throws away the used paper towel. When Jim turns back to the kitchen table, it is to discover Bo Peep perched at its edge; her eyes are slit and her tail swishes from side to side as she watches him. But barring the cat, the table is clutter-less. His keys are missing.

"What the hell?" They were right there! Jim pushes back a chair in stupefaction and searches under the table. Not only can he NOT start his motorcycle, but he can't get in his apartment if he doesn't have his keys!

An orange furry head appears upside down from over the edge of the table.

Jim glares at Bo Peep's tiny, pointed, devious face. He demands, "What happened to my keys?"

Bo Peep inquires _mew? _Her tail, which seems to have a life of its own, waves at him lazily in the air.

"I have to go back to work!"

_Mew mew?_

"Yes, 'oh really!'"

When he tries to lift Bo Peep up to see if she is roosting on his keys, she latches onto his chest with a protesting shriek. They then have a brief contest to see who can yowl the loudest.

For every claw of Bo Peep's Jim un-pries from his clothes, another three claws dig into his skin. The cat tries to climb onto his shoulder; but she isn't a kitten anymore, or a lightweight because Spock feeds her too much tuna. Her belly ends up in his face and her fur up his nose. Jim stumbles back into a chair, tries to sit down, and misses the furniture entirely. Luckily for Bo Peep, he breaks her fall. She scoots away the moment his head connects with the linoleum.

Jim lies dazed on Spock's kitchen floor for some time. Eventually he decides to get up, a decision which is mostly the result of Bo Peep using his chest for her newest perch. She kneads his stomach and is, incredibly, purring.

As he rolls over and sits up, he spies his missing keys in a far corner of the kitchen. Considering their distance from the table, he can only conclude they got up and walked away while he was bandaging his finger. Bo Peep increases the volume of her purring until she sounds like a motorboat engine. Jim, nonplussed with the feline, forgoes dealing with her and pockets his keys.

It's not his fault she runs out the front door the second he opens it.

But that is definitely not how Spock would view it when Jim explains why he lost Bo Peep. Cursing his life (apparently a life ruled by a cat) and spewing a litany of _fuck fuck fuck_, he sprints after her. It takes an entire minute before he realizes she is faster than he is and if he runs east, she runs west. If he runs north, she runs south. They are wearing paths into the neatly clipped grass of Spock's front lawn.

Jim freezes in place, hoping against hope she will come to him if he doesn't chase her. "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty," he beckons. "C'mere, Bo Peep. Jimmy promises to pet you lots and lots and buy you a goldfish..." Shit, does he have time to run back in the house and find a can of tuna?

Bo Peep twines around the post of the mailbox at the end of the driveway and _mews _at him. Then she becomes disinterested with Jim altogether and more interested in the road. She crouches where lawn meets pavement, her stance wiggling in a way which usually means she wants to pounce something.

Fate is against Jim. Always. There comes the sound of a car turning onto the end of the street, stereo blaring and an engine revved. Jim is certain his blood pressure just skyrocketed to dangerous levels. He does the only thing which makes sense. He runs into the middle of the road to flag down the driver before Bo Peep does the worst thing possible—she would, just to give him a heart attack—and winds up dead.

Then Spock's heart would shatter into a million little un-patchable pieces, and Jim would hate himself forever.

Between his "DON'T HIT MY CAT!" and the squeal of brakes, Bo Peep startles and dashes across the yard back onto the porch.

It isn't Jim who yells "Jesus _fucking _CHRIST!" as a pink Cadillac goes veering into a neighbor's yard. Jim sucks in a breath, puts a hand to his chest (where his heart is hammering), and sways in relief.

The man who crawls out of the Cadillac looks as shaken as he does, if not more so. "You crazy kid! You can't jump in front of cars like that!" Harry Mudd hustles toward Jim, still talking. "I almost hit you! I—KIRK? " The lawyer moans. "Oh _god_, I almost ran over James Kirk."

Mudd staggers.

Jim props him up against the car and pulls the key out of the ignition. "Are you going to faint?" he asks, circling around the car back to Mudd.

"Jamey boy, don't mock me." Mudd laughs shortly (not-quite hysterically) as he mops at his face with a handkerchief. "Dear Lord, I might have known it was you! You always cause me trouble in the most frightful of ways."

The accusation stings. "Don't blame me, Mudd," he snaps. "You're the one driving too fast in a neighborhood. Kids play out here, man. And," he adds coldly, "you almost ran over my cat."

Mudd takes off his sunglasses and blinks owlishly at Jim. "Cat, you say? I don't see any cat."

"She's—" disappeared into the house. "Never mind. Just... fucking watch the road."

"And I could say don't jump in it," counters the lawyer. "If my car is damaged, you'll be hearing from me."

"Your Barbie mobile is fine." Jim gives the man his best shit-eating grin. "Though don't you think it's time you traded it in for a real car?"

"Funny, Kirk," Mudd snorts, slicking his disheveled hair back into place with a comb, "oh so funny." As the man opens his car door, he calls to Jim over his shoulder, "I have heard your Mr. Spock is hard-up since he lost his job with that fancy law firm but do remind him I don't like poachers."

Jim's blood sings angrily through his veins. "Spock's poaching jack-shit and you know it! Not everybody wants to be represented by a cheat, Mudd!"

Jim dances back as the Cadillac convertible comes at him in reverse. Then Mudd swerves fully onto the street and roars away, leaving Jim with a face full of exhaust fumes. Jim coughs and flips off the Cadillac's driver.

In the house, Bo Peep is contrite enough that she doesn't knock over the soap dish while Jim washes his face and hands in the bathroom and sits sweetly on his lap for a full minute once he collapses onto the couch. Calling Jose is easy; explaining to Jose why he felt he had to play hookie—and why he now legitimately wants the rest of the day off—proves much more difficult. Jose is usually okay with Jim pulling a Houdini once and a while (it's part of an unspoken contract between them, because Jim can only work consistent hours if he feels he has some measure of freedom—like a random day off); today however the man is apparently in the worst mood of all time.

Jim and Bo Peep listen to the garble of rude Spanish coming out of the phone receiver for some minutes before he puts the phone back to his ear. Bo Peep, bored again, decides walking along the top of the couch is more prudent than the floor.

"Yeah, yeah, I know about the Fosters' van. I promise I'll come in an hour early tomorrow morning and we can—what? _No_, that's not even fucking dawn, Jose!" Something sharp pricks his skull. "Hold on—DAMN IT, BO PEEP, would you fucking stop already!" She is kneading the top of his head like it's a scratching post.

Where the hell is Spock? Jim thinks. Bo Peep is obviously going to make him suffer until her favorite person comes home.

Caught between the irate boss and the annoying cat, Jim gives up. "All right, man, see you at _five _in the morning!" He hangs up, tosses the cordless phone into a nearby recliner, and cranes his head around to look at his boyfriend's cat. "You owe me, Bo Peep."

_Mew_.

She lets him scratch her under the chin for five seconds before she jumps off the couch and out of his line of vision. Jim sighs, stretches out long-ways on the couch after removing his boots, and closes his eyes.

All he wanted to do today is relax.

Everywhere he goes is Khan. Khan buying out the strip mall across from the diner, eating away at the ratio of Khan-owned shops/non-Khan-owned shops. Khan bulldozing the consignment shop where Jim got Bones to trust him for the first time. Khan marrying one of his best friends.

Khan, Khan, Khan.

He almost can't stand to be in this town. Sometimes Jim catches himself eyeing his old duffel bag, thinking that all he has to do is toss a few pairs of clothes into it, climb on his Harley, and go.

But there are the reasons he simply can't walk away.

Something lands on his stomach with a _plop_. Jim groans, eyes still closed, and says, "Please, Bo Peep. Can't you let me sleep...?" But the thing his hand grabs is too small to be a cat.

He opens his eyes and looks at what he is holding; looks at it for all of two seconds before his brain registers what it is.

A mouse. In his hand.

_Dead_.

The neighbor who knocks on the front door is concerned about the screaming. She is also concerned about the fact that Jim is shaking like a man on LSD. Jim assures her everything is fine. Perfectly fine. Then Bo Peep dives past the palsied Jim, through the open door, and disappears into the bushes lining the front of the house.

"Oh," the neighbor says, "I think your cat got out." Some seconds later, soothingly, "Dear me, don't cry! She looks like such a sweet thing. I'm certain we'll get her back. Here, kitty, kitty..."

* * *

><p>A door opening and closing. Footsteps. Jim buries his head under a decorative throw pillow and wills the world to go away.<p>

"Jim?" comes Bones' voice. "You coulda told me we were staying here tonight. I'd have had Christine bring me straight over. Jim?"

Jim whines when the pillow is removed and he is unearthed from his hiding place (namely under a blanket). "Awful day, Bones," he whimpers. "Gimme back my pillow."

A hand skates down his side, tugging up his t-shirt so it can lay warm against his skin. "Headache?"

"No."

Breath whistles against his cheek as Leonard leans to kiss the side of his jaw. "Is there a reason," murmurs the man, lips trailing up to Jim's ear, "why the cat is trapped under a hamper weighed down by dishware?" He smells of antiseptic and aftershave.

"She's evil," Jim sighs as he turns into Leonard's arms. "She tried to get me run over by a car."

"Hmm," Leonard replies. They kiss. "That is evil."

Jim pulls back. "You believe me?"

Leonard lifts an eyebrow. "Of course I do, darlin'. Now, Spock...? He'll be a little harder to convince."

Jim flops back onto the couch with gusto. "Are you kidding? Spock would accept the postman is an alien life-form before he admitted his cat might not be saintly."

"Oh he knows how she is," Bones murmurs. "Speaking of, where is he?"

"No clue. He was gone when I got here."

Leonard nudges him to move over until they are both sitting on the couch. "I thought it's his turn to cook."

Jim's hair refuses to be coaxed into order so he lets it go. He offers, "I can make something."

"No," McCoy interjects too quickly. "We'll order Chinese."

Jim tells Bones what he wants as the man picks up the phone and walks away for the local Chinese restaurant's flyer then adds, "Moo-goo-gai pan for Spock—no meat."

Leonard's drawl can be heard from the kitchen and back. "I know that, Jim."

"Love you, Bonesie!" Jim singsongs.

"You've got to find another line."

"I love you soooo much!"

"I swear to God, Jim, I will let this cat out."

Jim is wise enough to know when to admit defeat.

They are caught up in nitpicking the news report on television when the doorbell rings. Jim grabs McCoy's wallet. It isn't the delivery boy, however, that greets him when he opens the front door.

"Mr. Kirk."

"Go away."

The sharply dressed Q continues to stare at him. Jim, for his part, can only see himself reflected in the man's dark shades.

Jim shifts so he is blocking the entrance to the house. "Look, tell Lady Q I'm busy. Some other time, okay?"

"You are mistaken, Mr. Kirk. Please step aside."

Jim lifts his chin belligerently. "Why?"

The Q extracts a piece of folded paper from the inside pocket of his jacket. "My orders are to acquire the items on this list."

Jim reads the first line before looking up sharply at the man. "Why would you need Spock's briefcase..." he trails off as the realization settles in.

Jim steps back and bellows, "Bones!"

Bones pokes his head around the archway to the living room. "Need help with the food?"

"We're going to the compound," Jim almost snaps as he stalks past McCoy to get his leather jacket.

Leonard catches his arm. "Jim, what? Why?"

"Because," he says, attempting to control the anger in his voice, "Lady Q has Spock."

His boyfriend looks at him for a second too long. Then Leonard nods once, sharply, and says, "Give me a minute. I need to call out of work for tomorrow."

Jim slips on his jacket and takes up a guarded stance in the foyer. The Q interrupts his silent fuming with a persistent "I must retrieve the items on the list, Mr. Kirk."

"Forget it," Jim says, voice hard. "Spock won't need his things at the compound because _he won't be staying._"

The Q seems to consider his answer then minutely inclines his head. However, he does say, "There is only one item on the list which her Ladyship was adamant be acquired for Mr. Spock, regardless of any… circumstance."

"What's that?" Leonard asks as he steps into the foyer and stands alongside Jim.

The Q looks at the tabby in McCoy's arms. "It seems you have already acquired it. My thanks, Dr. McCoy."

Bo Peep twitches her tail in Jim's direction. He suspects she knows where she is going and that makes her very pleased. Could she have been misbehaving all day because she knew Spock wasn't coming home tonight? Jim will never know the answer to his question but he wouldn't be surprised in the least if it were true.

He had forgotten that Bo Peep loves Spock as much as he and Leonard do.

They settle into the backseat of a black Hummer. Spock's cat is perfectly content to stay in McCoy's lap and purr loudly as they travel to the Q compound. But she never ceases to watch Jim with those narrowed eyes.

He strokes the side of her face with one finger. "Okay," he tells her. "I read you. You want Spock back. I'll get him for you."

Leonard says nothing of his promise, perhaps because he is silently making the same promise himself.


	3. Part Two

**Part Two**

"Oh, James! I knew you would come!" crows someone happily as two men enter a parlor resplendent with antiquity. The woman called Lady Q (known by this title to both the outside world and the secret circles of the Q) is almost entirely hidden beneath the ruffles and lace of a gown reminiscent of Marie Antoinette's era of fashion. Ensconced as she currently is in a high-backed chair like a throne, were she to cry "Let them eat cake!" the demand would only enhance the image of her.

Seated across from her is a dignified man in a neatly tailored business suit. His poise (on par with manners of royalty) is no less diminished by the addition of a cat who leaps upon his lap and settles there to wash her whiskers.

Lady Q addresses her companion: "He has come to save you, for you are his paramour and at this very moment a damsel-in-distress. James is such a Don Quixote at heart!"

Spock strokes the cat lovingly with one hand and lifts a delicate china tea cup toward his mouth with the other. "You make an interesting comparison, Lady Q. I assume you are aware Cervantes wrote his tale as somewhat of a spoof of chivalric behavior."

She beams.

Leonard shoulders past Jim to scowl at the pair of reclining adults. "What about me?"

Lady Q waves her fan languidly. "Every knight needs a squire, my dear Doctor McCoy—one which is capable of tempering a hero's enthusiasm with common sense as well as polishing his armor and tending his horse. In your case, I fear your work is more belaboring than the average squire's," she concludes graciously.

Leonard clearly cannot decide if she complimenting him or insulting him. Still, he agrees reluctantly, "Jim does get some crazy ideas."

Jim ignores the fact Lady Q is waiting for his gentleman's greeting and looks at Spock. "Are you all right?"

Spock nods solemnly but his eyes are twinkling with amusement. "Lady Q assured me I would remain un—"

"Don't be absurd, James! This is not the time for melodrama," the old woman cuts in. "I requested Mr. Spock's company, and he obliged me. We were having a lovely chat."

She sounds annoyed that he is ignoring her.

"About what?" Jim wants to know, still watching Spock. They both know his paranoia concerning the Q is well-founded in fact.

Lady Q answers. "Oh, this and that. Do you know that Mr. Spock is an expert on the art of meditation? You must teach me some time, for I fear I am not naturally prone to a calm state," she says, turning back to Spock. "And oh! Have you considered becoming one of those new-age gurus? I hear they are all the rage these days. I have half a mind to employ you right now!" She laughs delightedly.

"Ma'am," McCoy interrupts. "I'm... glad you like Spock's company but it's upsettin' to the rest of us when we don't know where he is. We might have thought something bad had happened to him."

The nod of Lady Q's head is judicious. "You are a wise man, Squire. I have no desire to cause you distress. I can only assume you did not receive my message."

Leonard's expression shows exactly how much he likes his new title. "'Doctor' will do," the man insists.

Jim folds his arms. He hasn't forgiven Lady Q yet. "We did _not _receive a message."

She frowns. "But I gave her explicit instructions to tell you of the whereabouts of Mr. Spock."

Now Jim frowns. "Who are you talking about?"

The fan points at the occupant of Spock's lap. "Why, her of course!"

"You told the cat," Kirk says flatly.

Lady Q smiles. "She is very intelligent, James—born from the litter of Lord Q's own Jezebel!"

Leonard echoes, "Jezebel?"

But Lady Q continues on. "Why else would I have given her to you, if not as a liaison of the Q?"

Jim stares. "...So it's not because I saved her?"

"From what?" counters the tiny woman in the grandiose gown. "I hear she was testing her agility when you rudely plucked her from the rooftop." Lady Q rolls her eyes with incredulity. "Then carted her down a tree, no less! It was a boon indeed that she forgave you for such mistreatment, my silly man; but I am of the firm opinion her forgiveness is accredited to Mr. Spock, to whom she has given her most loyal favor."

Here Lady Q looks fondly upon Spock and the cat. Bo Peep rubs her face against Spock's knee, purring.

Leonard whispers into Jim's ear, "This woman's crazier 'n a box of Crackerjacks. I'm afraid Spock's going to follow her down the rabbit hole if we don't get him out of here."

Jim sighs in acknowledgment of his duty and clears his throat loudly. "Lady Q."

Lady Q's fan snaps shut. "Yes, James?"

"We would appreciate the return of our... paramour." He is certain he is blushing. "Please?"

"Well, Mr. Spock," the companion is asked, "are you ready to go home?"

"Your company has been most enlightening, Lady Q, but I would prefer to retire to my abode at this time, if you are amendable to my departure." Lady Q applauds Spock's manners, and the lawyer collects Bo Peep and rises from his chair. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Lady Q waits until Spock is done bowing to her before she sinks forlornly into her chair. "I do enjoy company, yet my friends rarely see fit to visit me of their own accord!" Her eyes cut pointedly to Jim. "Such a shame, is it not, considering how well I treat them?"

Bones pokes Jim in the back. At the second prodding, Jim fights down a grimace and tells the old woman, "I'm sorry. I've been busy."

She holds out an imperious hand and beckons him to her side.

Finding his options limited (Lady Q will probably sequester them all in the compound if she deems it necessary), Jim shuffles over to her chair.

But she is having none of his hesitancy. Her hand beckons him closer still.

When he is almost level with her face (oh god, is Lady Q or the dress that smells of mothballs?), she asks, "Are you truly sorry, James Tiberius Kirk?"

He is, at the moment, sorry for _many _things, though not keeping a regular visiting schedule with this old kook isn't one of them. "Yes, ma'am," he murmurs.

One of her hands grasps his and squeezes it. "Then you are forgiven."

When she lets him go, he immediately tucks his hand away into a pocket and steps back. Jim can't bring himself to thank her for that forgiveness. He signals for Spock follow him in his retreat.

Just as the three men reach the door of the parlor, Lady Q bellows, "Mr. Spock!"

Spock turns back to her and raises an inquiring eyebrow.

"You should consider my offer of employment with the utmost seriousness. While I understand you are not in dire straits, I believe you would find our organization to hold more reward than a mere paycheck." She rings the bell upon the sidetable by her chair and an expressionless Q appears in the open doorway. "See these gentlemen safely home please, and procure me some pen and paper. I mustn't forget to make note of today's deeds. Who has the next appointment?"

The Q bows to her, saying, "The Captain, your Ladyship," and then directs Kirk, Spock, and McCoy to follow him from the Hall of Q.

The drive back to Spock's house seems too long and Jim is very agitated by the time the Hummer pulls into Spock's driveway. He announces without preamble "Got to hit the head" and locks himself into a bathroom.

There he leans against the closed door and pulls from his jacket pocket the tiny folded piece of paper Lady Q had slipped into his hand. It reads only an address, date, and time, nothing else. The back of his head connects with the door as Jim sighs deeply. It seems rather pointless to hope he can escape these games of the Q.

* * *

><p>He can't sleep for thinking of that stupid piece of paper so he wakes up very early on a weekday morning and quietly dresses in his favorite running clothes. But when Jim steps out of his apartment to go for a morning run he is shocked to find Gaila standing outside of his door. He pockets a pair of headphones blaring with music and says, bemused, "Hey."<p>

She offers him a tentative smile. "Morning, Jim."

Watching his friend bite down on her lip, he slips his hands into his loose hoodie. "Is everything okay?"

Gaila begins to nod but her breath hitches oddly and she puts a hand to her mouth. The curls of her hair bounce as she shakes her head _no_.

"C'mere, sweetheart," Jim says softly, holding out his arms invitingly. She presses her face against his shoulder but he doesn't think she is crying.

Gaila says crying is worse than watching a football game. Whereas football wastes her time, tears waste her time _and _ruin her expensive makeup. Yet Jim remembers that Gaila once mentioned her mother never did anything but cry for days on end, and Jim believes that piece of unhappy family history has more to do with Gaila's hatred of the act than anything else.

He hugs her tightly, in his heart feeling ridiculously glad to see her.

She pushes him away after another minute and wrinkles her nose. "You stink."

He grins unabashedly. "I was going to shower _after _my sweaty morning run."

"I can't run in my heels." She peeks at him from under her eyelashes but something about her expression seems off, like she is afraid he wants her to leave.

"Then we'll walk," he says, striving to sound relaxed.

She nods and silently loops her arm through his. They cross the apartment complex's parking lot before turning onto the paved sidewalk of the neighborhood.

Jim is just about to ask her what's going on when she breaks her silence. "Khan said you wouldn't come to the wedding."

Jim is careful of his answer. "I don't want to watch you marry him, Gaila."

"Why?"

"Because I hate him."

They pull up short when she stops walking. "You mean you hate the idea of Riverside changing, and since he is the one behind the change..."

"No," he interrupts. "I hate _Khan._"

Gaila looks like she wants to shake him. "Then help me understand, Jim!" Her words echo of desperation. "I don't want to get married without you!"

"Gaila..."

Gaila takes a deep breath, one which shudders out of her. "At this rate," she says, slightly hoarse, "I won't have enough attendees to witness my marriage to Khan. Do you know how that feels, Jim? To know your closest friends have cast you aside. To realize nobody supports you? Khan's right," she say bitterly. "Why should I live among people who don't love me?"

Incensed at this accusation, Jim grabs her by arms. "_I love you_, Gaila, and don't you ever, EVER let that bastard tell you otherwise! Everyone still loves you; we just can't abide your decision to marry the person who wants to cut the heart out of our town."

Gaila leans in to him. "It's not like that, Jim. Khan's going to make things better here."

Jim swallows, looking down into her earnest face. His next words are said very quietly: "I told you what he did to me."

Her face drains of expression.

"Gaila." Though her body doesn't move but he feels her pulling away from him. "Gaila," Jim insists, "I promise I'm not lying."

Gaila drops her gaze to the pavement. "I want to believe you, Jim. But if I believe you, I-I am giving up on Khan." She whispers, "He's been so good to me." She lifts her eyes to his, imploring him to understand. "I _want _to marry him, to be happy."

"I'm sorry," Jim says.

"Me too," she murmurs. Wrapping her arms around herself, she gives him a sad smile. "You'll tell the gang I said hello?"

He nods, unable to speak until he finds the courage to say what she needs to hear. The red-headed woman turns away and retraces their path to his apartment building.

Morose, Jim looks at up at the overcast clouds of the grey morning and hates himself. "Damn it, Jim," he says. A heartbeat later, Jim gives in and spins around with a sharp cry of "Gaila, wait!"

She slows down, stops, but does not turn back.

"I'll be there!" he promises. _Please don't hate me._

He doesn't understand why her head falls forward, as if in disappointment, and she quickens her pace in the opposite direction. He huffs out a sigh and jerks his headphones out of his pocket, putting them on and turning up the music until his ear drums throb. He starts to jog, then, and crosses the street after a quick look in both directions. He never notices the black sedan rolling sedately down the street; he does not see that it stops ahead of Gaila and a door opens, or that she, without protest, climbs into it and is whisked away.

After Jim finishes his run and showers, he encounters Leonard hunched over a giant steaming mug of black coffee and watching the morning news with the expression of a man who hates waking up. Leonard's gaze never leaves the television screen as he grates out, "Mornin'. Good run?"

Jim pauses in pouring himself some coffee. "It was... the same, I guess."

His boyfriend makes a noise between a grunt of disinterest and _shit__, how can you get up so early?_

Jim decides not to mention Gaila. Instead he drops onto the couch beside Leonard and says too cheerfully, "You can't go to work in your bunny slippers, Bones."

"Alligators," mumbles McCoy.

Jim looks fondly at Leonard's neon-green alligator slippers, courtesy of Joanna McCoy (and paid for by Eleanor McCoy). Smiling, he leans comfortably into Leonard's side, more than content to share Bones' body heat.

As if Jim's snuggling is a cue, Leonard discards his mug on the table and unceremoniously abandons the couch. "I'm gonna shower."

"But I want to cuddle!" Jim complains, like he thinks any good housewife might.

"And I want a million dollars," grumbles the sleepy man as he drags his feet toward the bathroom.

Ah, the joy of living with Leonard Horatio McCoy. Jim trades his normal-sized mug for Leonard's oversized one and flips the channel to early morning cartoons. Watching an animated Batman is much better than thinking about how much he may have let Gaila down.

* * *

><p>Two days left.<p>

Jim is supposed to be distracted being eating Saturday lunch with Spock at the Enterprise Diner but he is twisting his paper napkin into bits while mentally repeating _two days, two days, two days_. The bell above the door announces a newcomer. Curious as always, and needing to think about something else, Kirk peers around the corner of his booth to see who it is. The man who steps into the diner and slowly looks around makes Jim's heart lodge in his throat.

"What is _he _doing here?"

Spock requests that Jim resume his previous position so that he too can see who has arrived.

Jim faces Spock, saying, "Pike just walked into _my _diner."

"Jim, you do not own the Enterprise."

He ignores that and makes a snap decision. "I'll be right back." Spock nods at his unspoken _after I find out what Pike wants._

He vacates the booth and heads toward the register where Pike currently is, looking impressive in his military uniform—and talking with Winona Kirk. Their conversation is not low enough not to be overhead.

"You don't look a day older than the last time I saw you, Win."

Winona smiles in a way that means she is flattered. "I would return the compliment, Chris, but you do have a smidgen of gray hair at the temples," she says with a hint of mischief.

The two people share a laugh.

Pike steps up to the counter and leans toward her. Jim, observing the man closely, doesn't like what he reads in Pike's body language.

Pike is saying as Jim approaches them from the side, "I will admit I was jealous of George for being married to such a beautiful, smart woman as you."

Winona tucks an errant strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "So you never... married?" she asks tentatively.

Pike's grin is charming. "I am still shamefully single, I'm afraid. I never found someone who measured up to my ideal woman."

Jim really, _really_ doesn't like the way Pike is looking at his mother either.

The color rising in Winona Kirk's face could be the result of a blush. Jim bursts into the exchange (flirtation, but the word makes his stomach flip) with a too-loud, "Mom!"

Winona turns to her son. "Jim! You remember Mr. Pike, don't you?"

"Actually," he replies, meeting Pike's eyes, "I remember him like it was yesterday. How are you, Pike? What brings you to town?"

Pike straightens up to meet his interrogation like a true solider. "Jim. I'm well, thank you for asking—and I am came to town on business." _Business _undoubtedly means Khan-business.

Which, in Jim's opinion, still doesn't necessitate Pike flirting with his mother.

The two men hold eye contact for a long moment before Jim ends their tense staring contest to say, as though Christopher Pike's presence is a trivial matter, "Hey, Mom, Bob called me. He said he had a great time on your date."

Winona opens a navy blue bank-bag of cash to retrieve a stack of one-dollar bills. "What date?" she asks almost absently.

Jim blinks. "You know—_your date_. With Bob." He cuts his eyes at Pike and adds, "The _mayor _of Riverside."

Winona frowns as she finishes counting the money in her hand and stuffs the bills into the open register drawer. Then she turns to Jim, eyes narrowed. Her words are hot—and not what he expected. "We went out last Tuesday. So Bob calls a _week late? _He couldn't have picked up the phone sooner than that?"

"Uh..." Jim widens his eyes as his brain scrambles to rectify an obvious error in his logic. "It's not Bob's fault..." As his mother's eyes narrow a little more, he explains hastily, "I mean—I forgot to tell you until now."

Winona is silent for a few seconds. Then, "Why would Bob call you when he could have called me?"

Crap. He panics and grabs for the closest thing to hand, which happens to be an innocuous container on the diner counter. "I, uh, need to get back to Spock. Just came up here to get some sugar for his tea. Bye!"

He is hurrying towards the booth occupied by Spock, who is watching him curiously, when a hand snags the back of his jacket, followed by a sharp, "Jimmy!"

Jim cringes, certain he is in trouble for lying.

Instead Winona turns him around to say, "Don't you dare give this to Spock!" She plucks the container from his hands. "It's salt!" She releases the back of his jacket then shoves another container (labeled in bold letters SUGAR) into his hands with a look of her face which clearly means _how did I raise such an unobservant child?_

He grins in relief. "Thanks, Mom."

"It's Spock who should thank me for saving him," she quips with a smile of her own.

As Jim scoots into the booth opposite of his boyfriend, he sets the sugar container between them.

Spock raises an eyebrow at it. "I assume you do not intend for me to consume the sugar by itself, Jim. It would be prudent to order a cup of tea to.. validate your story." Spock looks pointedly in Jim's mother's direction.

Jim rubs his knuckles against his cheek, sheepish.

"Also," Spock continues, "might I inquire why you felt the need to lie to your mother?"

"About the sugar?" he asks innocently.

"Concerning Mayor Wesley."

Caught. Jim's eyes track back to Pike, who is once again leaning against the counter by the register, no doubt waiting for Winona to return. "Don't know." He shrugs carelessly but his mouth pinches into a thin line.

"Then Pike's interest in your mother does not disturb you?"

Jim fixes a hard gaze on Spock. "Are you saying it's okay for Pike to go after Mom?" Kirk leans in, his speech suddenly fevered. "Bob's been in love with my mother for decades, Spock, and now he finally has a chance to win her!" He thumps his fist on the table. "_Pike has no right!_"

"Jim," Spock murmurs, "you need to lower your voice if you do not want to alarm your mother."

Jim pulls back and proceeds to channel his anger into gripping the edge of the table. His voice, while calmer, is no less fierce. "I don't like it," he states flatly.

"Interesting."

"Not to me," Winona's son counters, and they speak no more of the dangerous subject. Jim flags down Uhura, ignoring the waitress's comment of "Who's the hottie hitting on your mom?" and orders a cup of tea for Spock and a chicken salad sandwich for himself. By the time he and Spock are ready to leave the diner, Pike is settled in a booth by himself, looking very much like he has nowhere else to be.

Jim grinds his molars and returns the man's short nod of acknowledgement as their eyes meet across the room. Then Jim seeks his mother to tell her he will gladly come over on Sunday for their traditional family meal. She kisses his cheek and jokes, "Worried about your poor mother being alone, Jimmy?"

Worry doesn't quite cover the territorial protectiveness motivating him to make the offer. But she doesn't need to know that. Caught up in his dour thoughts, he almost misses the rest of Winona's words.

"...if you don't mind...join us for dinner."

"What?"

"I said Pike should join us for dinner. Jimmy, it's rude to tune out your mother when she is talking to you."

His head whips around to look at the man perusing a lunch menu. "Why the hell is _he _eating with us!"

"Jim!" his mother gasps. "How unkind! Christopher will be a house guest, and I extend courtesy to all my house guests!"

Jim has to clutch at the edge of the diner counter to stop the odd rotation of the room. "Guest?" he repeats dumbly. "You're renting a room to Pike?"

"Mmhm," she confirms. "I run a bed-and-breakfast, and he needs a place to stay. It is a fairly logical thing to do, you know."

"But I thought... with the diner, you weren't doing the renting rooms thing anymore," he protests. Hadn't she said that?

"Oh, Jim," his mother sighs, and he can tell she is exasperated with him. "He's a friend of your father's. And a friend of mine, too, actually. We have to make exceptions for friends, baby."

He won't change her mind, he knows that.

Jim decides against storming out of the diner—there's no sense in letting Pike know how pissed he is, not yet at least—but that does not preclude him from kicking gravel once he is in the parking lot. Spock interrupts his fit to say, "I gather the rocks offend you, but please direct them in the direction opposite of my car." Then the lawyer proceeds to unlock his Corvette and start her engine.

Spock remarks to Jim some time later, as they roll to a stop at an intersection, "I do not believe Winona would end her relationship with Mayor Wesley in order to pursue Christopher Pike."

For a moment Jim remains silently slumped in the passenger seat. Once the street light changes from red to green and the car is in motion again, he responds, "Trust no one, Spock."

Spock glances at Jim. "You do not trust Pike?"

"I don't trust anyone with a personal goal in mind who is professionally trained to eliminate all obstacles in order to achieve that goal."

"Ah." A pause. "Someone like Khan, then."

Jim sighs. "I don't think it's professional training in Khan's case—more like an innate sense of evil."

"I highly doubt Captain Pike is evil."

"If he tries to date my mom, he is."

"I... am not certain I understand your point of view."

Jim cannot help but smile a little. "I could try explaining it in another way."

Spock flips on the car's left turn signal. "That will be unnecessary, Jim. I shall consult with Leonard."

Jim laughs. Ha! Let Spock keep his delusion that McCoy can translation Jim's behavior better than Jim himself. Amused, he removes his hands from inside his jacket and drapes an arm along the top of Spock's seat. "Are we headed back to your place?"

"Soon enough," Spock says. "It would be wise to visit the supermarket before returning home."

"Ah," Jim murmurs in instant understanding.

Spock is out of cat food. If they were reckless, stupid men, they would go home without Bo Peep's meal. But Jim (courtesy of Spock, Bones, his mother, Uhura, Jose, and many many other people) is learning to be much less stupid and reckless these days.

At least, _Jim _thinks so.

* * *

><p>The small shop's sign reads <strong>The Knick Knack Corner<strong>. Jim steers his motorcycle through a side alley and to the lot designated for customer parking. As he pockets his motorcycle keys, he double-checks Lady Q's note then his watch. Should he wait the five minutes until 7:00 pm or go inside already?

Deciding in the latter case, Jim trudges down the alley and around the corner of the shop. The street is lit against the encroaching night but most people have vacated the street to find dinner or get home before dark. Jim pauses in confusion outside of the shop's door, studying first the crooked CLOSED sign and then the hours of operation beneath it: M - F, 9 am - 6 pm. The shop's lights are turned off.

But why would Lady Q want him to show up at a place that's closed?

Jim turns to look down the deserted sidewalk, frowning. "Crap," he mutters. The crazy old woman is leading him around by the nose again. Frustrated, Kirk pulls on the door handle.

He is surprised when it gives with ease; a small beep annouces his impending entrance. Compelled by the mystery of the note, Jim pokes his head into the building.

But before he can call "Hello?" his eyes catch on a shadow in the corner of the shop. A person in a chair. Apprehension growing, his first step inside the shop is greeted by the crunch of glass beneath his sneaker. The person in the chair tries to speak and though the speech is muffled he recognizes the emotion behind it. This is when Jim realizes, lungs freezing, he has walked into something quite dreadfully _wrong_.

The chair scrapes against the floor as the person struggles desperately, then sobs against what can only be a rag of some sort.

Oh fuckity-fuck.

A voice echoes his sentiment—or more like sneers it. "_Fuck! _I told him to lock the fucking door, fuckin' moron!" A small lamp snaps on and a toothy man grins at Jim from behind a short counter littered with broken pottery. "Hiya."

Jim should be surprised at the gun pointed in his direction, but he isn't. Of course he isn't. His brain has already decided he's stuck his nose right into the middle of an act of a horridly criminal nature.

The light reveals the person tied to the chair is a woman in her sixties, probably the shopkeeper. She looks at Jim with absolute terror in her eyes. He starts toward her on instinct.

"Bad idea, bud!" snaps the guy across the room. "You stay where I can see you. _Moron!_" he bellows, "_Need more rope over here!_"

Another person develops out of the shadows at the back of the shop. "Yeah, what for?" comes the snarl. "I was tryin' to crack the safe, but it's damned hard without any lights!"

"Use your fuckin' flashlight, ya stupid nob," the guy with the gun snarls right back. "But take care o' him first—and lock the goddamn door!"

The second guy disappears again questioning the whereabouts of rope.

Jim's throat feels constricted but he manages to force words past it. "Look, I just—"

"_Shut up. _What kind of dumbass are you anyway, kid? The fuckin' sign on the door says CLOSED."

Jim fights down a flash of anger overriding his fear and shoots for a bravado he doesn't feel. "Hey, man, you know you've tripped the silent alarm, right?"

There is a deadly stretch of silence. Then the guy behind the counter leaps over it and starts toward him. "Ain't no alarm. We woulda been told about an alarm." The man is wearing a ski mask and is fully clothed in black. He looks Jim up and down. "Who the fuck are you?"

Jim keeps his hands in the air and shrugs one shoulder casually. "Was looking to buy somethin' for my grandmother's birthday," he lies. "What's this place sell?" Keep the asshole talking, he thinks. Just keep him talking because surely Lady Q didn't send him in here to be _killed_. He feels a bead of sweat roll down between his shoulder blades and wonders if adrenaline is the reason he isn't a useless puddle of nerves right now.

The robber barks out an ugly laugh and plucks something delicate-looking from a shelf. Then he throws it on the floor, shattering the object at Jim's feet. "It's all shit—expensive shit for old ladies. Guess your grandma would like it, huh?" The busy end of the gun momentarily meanders toward the shopkeeper. "Quit your weepin', lady."

"What do you expect?" Jim retorts. "You're terrorizing her and on top of that, breaking her merchandise."

"I don't like your smart mouth, kid."

"I don't like your gun. How 'bout I shut up if you put your gun away?"

"How 'bout I shoot you in the head?" The barrel of the gun levels with Jim's temple.

At this point, Bones would beg him to be quiet so he can get out of this nightmare alive. Jim isn't one to ignore a Bones-voice, even if it's part of his imagination. He shuts up.

At the robber's request he sits down in a chair 'Moron' puts next to the shopkeeper. Jim tells her quietly, "It's okay. You'll be okay." He tries not to think about the guy tying his hands behind the chair.

When 'Moron' is satisfied Jim cannot move, he says disinterestedly, "Goin' back to my real job now. Try not to kill anybody."

His partner only replies, "Hurry up. We're already off-schedule." Once the other guy is gone, he wanders back to the counter and searches for something. Jim's heart-rate increases threefold when the man returns with a crowbar.

Laughing at the pallor of his captives' faces, the man shakes the crowbar at them and says, "Don't look so scared. I don't hurt old ladies 'n I'll only beat you—" He twirls the crowbar at Jim. "—if you say another fucking word. So shut it."

Then the robber proceeds to smash up the rest of the shop's glass balls, ornaments, and figurines. He seems to take great pleasure in the destruction and stops only to light a cigarette. After a long drag, he crushes the rest of the cigarette into the teardrop of a sad-faced clown mask and picks up his crowbar again. He is about to send it swinging into another shelf when a red light suddenly sweeps through the shop and illuminates everything.

Jim thinks he is going to pass out at the sound of the police siren.

"Aw fuck," the robber growls, then hollers toward the back, "Cops!"

'Moron' appears. "Shit, seriously? I thought we had another..." He checks a watch. "Guess we don't. All right, we're out."

Jim wonders why a man who owns a Rollex needs to rob people.

The one with the gun waves it at the shopkeeper. "Cut her loose. You hear that, lady? Don't try anything funny and I won't have to hurt you."

She nods, face wet with tears.

To Jim, he says, "Word of advice, kid: when a store says 'closed', stay the fuck out of it. Lucky for you, we're the nice kind of criminals. Today, that is."

Jim would bet the man is grinning beneath his ski mask.

The moment 'Moron' cuts the shopkeeper free of the chair, the two robbers bolt into the back of the shop, no doubt already having an escape route planned through another exit. The woman tears at her gag and starts crying in earnest the moment they are gone.

When she reaches for Jim's bonds, he says gently, "No, it's okay, I'm okay—just get the police."

So she does.

* * *

><p>Sheriff Komack looks like a man twice his age. "God, Jim. Why do you do this to me?"<p>

Jim shakes his wrists to get the blood flowing back into them and declines a blanket a deputy tries to secure around his shoulders. "I haven't done anything, Sheriff," he says tiredly. Except be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Contrary to what the note specified.

Opening his notepad, Komack wants to know, "Can you think of anything descriptive about the guys?"

"Not really. Their faces were covered." Jim pauses. "One of them had on a Rollex, if that means anything."

Komack looks up sharply from his notepad. "Gold band, silver trim?"

Jim thinks about it then nods thoughtfully.

Komack mutters "Shit" and barks something to one of the deputies crawling over the shop.

Jim shifts and lowers his voice so that only Komack hears him and retrieves Lady Q's note from his jean pocket. He whispers, "She gave it to me a few days ago."

Komack reads it and, surprisingly, digs a lighter out of his pocket and sets the paper on fire. Jim watches the note float to the ground between their feet and curl up, burning to ash.

Komack is looking away when he tells Jim, "I thought as much."

Jim stills. "What's it mean?"

"Means it's not a random crime, Kirk." Komack sighs almost soundlessly. "This is just the crackpot theory of an old man," his voice is rough, as tired as Jim feels, "but the last time these two thugs robbed a place, they scared the owners so badly, the shops closed up for good."

"I wouldn't blame them," Jim says softly, thinking of the frightened woman shaking in the back of an ambulance.

Komack's smile is humorless. "Then I guess it's Khan's good luck they changed their minds about selling to him." He flips his notepad closed and says, switching back to the voice of authority, "We'll call you tomorrow. Go home. Get some rest. One of my boys can drive you if you want."

Jim shakes his head, the name _Khan _still tumbling over and over in his mind. He needs to be alone, just him and the road, to process everything Komack just told him—and everything Komack didn't need to say.


	4. Part Three

**Part Three**

"Damn it, Mom, are you listening to me?"

Winona stays focused on the counter which she is wiping clean of ketchup stains. "Don't use that language in front of your mother."

Frustrated, Jim barely refrains from punching something inanimate. But he is tempted—very tempted to get violent with the glassware.

As if sensing the focal point of her son's temper, Winona removes the glass of water sitting innocuously between them to her opposite side. "Jimmy," she says with a sigh, "I hear you, but most times..." She gestures around at the diner. "...the manager is the last person out the door. That's the way it is, baby. I can't change that any more than you can."

"It's too dangerous be alone in here at night," Jim says through gritted teeth.

His mother's expression sharpens with annoyance. "I can take of myself."

"Against two armed men?" Jim's laugh is short and bitter. "Don't bet on it!"

Before she can counter his argument, the bell in the window of the kitchen dings loudly. Jim and Winona turn to stare at the man leaning against the open space, arms folded.

Sulu's look is unreadable but his words ring as clearly as the bell: "She won't be alone." Beneath a hand is one of his largest chef's knives; his thumb is absently stroking the edge of the blade.

Jim considers the message in the man's eyes then relaxes his tense shoulders. He nods shortly to Sulu, an acceptance of the unspoken offer of protection, and pushes back from the diner counter with a sincere "Thanks, man."

Winona goes back to the task of cleaning with a light frown turning down the corners of her mouth but she says nothing to either Jim or Sulu.

As Jim steps out of the Enterprise Diner, somewhat mollified that he accomplished his purpose, and into the sunlit parking lot, he pauses to observe the world.

Out there are two terrorizing bastards, no doubt following the bidding of Khan Noonien Singh. Jim knows it is only a matter of time before Khan seeks to strike at the heart of the resistance against Eugenics Corp. Khan will try to break them down, and this diner—his mother's beloved Enterprise—is not only a stronghold of Khan's opposition and a physical obstacle blocking his construction plans, it is a symbol of their will to fight and survive.

Khan will do his utmost to destroy it.

Jim won't let that happen. If he has to, he'll take the fight to Khan first.

* * *

><p>"Sir, you can't—"<p>

Jim puts on his most charming grin. "It's okay. I'm here to speak with Gary."

The waitress, probably in her late thirties, doesn't lift her restraining hand on his arm. Her tone says she isn't keen on playing along with Kirk. "Sir, no customers are allowed in the kitchen." She huffs. "And we aren't open yet!"

"I'm not customer, I'm a friend," he corrects, indignant.

"You aren't an employee."

"But I _am _a friend of Gary's," he insists.

"_Not an employee_," she retorts, suddenly rather imposing for all of her five foot, four inches of height.

Jim wonders if she is going to smack him. She looks like she is thinking about it.

A low chuckle interrupts their argument. "'S all right, Beth," Gary Mitchell says as he navigates around the empty tables toward them. "Jim is a friend—against my better judgment I might add," the man finishes with a grin.

Jim smirks. "I think it's the other way around, old man."

Mitchell barks out a laugh. "Who do you think you're fooling, son? _I _was the one bailing your ass out of jail every other Saturday night."

Jim leans casually against the edge of a table. "That's because you were too boring to join the party."

"Or too smart," mutters the waitress. Sliding back into the booth she had abandoned at Kirk's unexpected entrance to The Jade Leaf, she resumes folding large cloth napkins and makes a show of ignoring the two men—a sure sign she is eavesdropping for all she is worth.

Gary puts a hand on Jim's shoulder and steers him toward the kitchen. Mitchell unties and tosses aside his apron onto a gleaming steel counter once they are alone and grabs a large wok hanging from an overhead rack. "It's been a while, Jim."

Jim wanders over to a wall and plucks a big white hat from a hook. When Gary turns around to look at him, Jim is wearing it with a broad grin. "Are you going to make me food?" Jim asks, very proud that his stomach knows the exact moment to rumble like it isn't already digesting two donuts he had bought at the gas station on the way over here.

Gary only says, "That's mine. Take it off."

Jim circles quickly to the opposite side of a counter when Gary comes after the hat. Mitchell calls him a thieving asshole. Jim's middle finger is his succinct reply.

Cursing in a language Jim can't understand (is that Chinese?), the chef tosses the wok onto a burner and digs around in a refrigerator before pulling out vegetables and raw chicken.

Jim settles on a stool, content to watch Mitchell cook for a few minutes. Occasionally he has to straighten his somewhat oversized chef's hat when it starts to slide down over his eyes. Why does Gary wear the stupid thing? he wonders. It must be a matter of pride.

"So," the chef begins conversationally, "you want to tell me why you're here?"

"To visit a friend?"

Mitchell snorts. "I like you, Jim. You know that. But I can't have you cluttering up my kitchen right before the restaurant opens. We get busy, fast. This ain't the diner."

"I know," Jim replies, picking at a shred of dried carrot stuck to the tabletop and feeling more like an errant teen than he has in a long time. He doesn't begrudge Mitchell that effect, however, because it's Gary, and Gary is a man he has respected since he was a kid. Sighing, Jim folds his arms and leans forward on his elbows. He takes off the hat and places it to the side.

"Gary, I need to ask you a question and I need a straight answer."

The man shoots him a sidelong glance. "Since when have I not been anything but up-front with you, kid?"

Jim's smile is wry. "Since never."

"So ask."

He cannot think of a good way to phrase what he wants to say, not without sounding too accusatory. _Screw it_, Jim decides. "What kind of deal did you make with Khan?"

Gary's hands never falter in their work as he adds more oil to the pan, then something that smells like garlic, and sautés the vegetables. "You'll have to be more specific, Jim."

Jim punches down a tinge of apprehension trying to cramp his belly. "The Jade Leaf—to keep her doors open. You're the only business left in this strip mall. It's a hard thing not to notice when everybody else is closing up shop and turning over their keys to Khan."

The chef releases the wok and resettles it on the burner. When he turns to Jim, his mouth is in a firm line but his eyes are sad. "Jim, if I'd known about..." Mitchell sighs heavily. "By the time your story made headlines, I'd signed the papers."

Jim echoes, "Papers?"

Gary slowly crosses to the kitchen and sits on a stool opposite of him. "The things I serve here, Jim—the things I _want_to make—they're not cheap to get. I thought Riverside could do with an upscale restaurant; that's partly why I came back. But who would have thought the economy was going to go down the crapper?" the man explains, voice weary. "My bank loan's a sinkhole."

Jim watches Mitchell run a hand over his face. His heart aches with sympathy but the truth is a hard bone to swallow. "Khan came along and offered you security."

"He offered to _save me_, Jim." Gary shrugs helplessly. "So now he owns half of The Jade Leaf... and I can't say I regret it. I regret not knowing what a bastard he was beforehand, but I can't regret _this_." His open hands symbolize everything around them. "This restaurant is all I've wanted to do for most of my life," the man finishes in a near whisper.

Jim reaches across the table and squeezes Gary's wrist. "I understand," he offers softly.

The pride in Gary's eyes goes a long way towards soothing Jim's heartache. "You've grown into a good man, Jim Kirk. If there's some way I can help you, you know I'll do it."

"I won't ask you to jeopardize The Jade Leaf, Gary," Jim tells him. To lighten the serious mood, he adds, "But I will plead with you not to burn my food, man." The sizzle-pop of the wok is beginning to produce smoke.

Gary leaps away from his stool with a resounding "_Shit!_"

As Mitchell is busy transferring the wok away from the heat source, Beth pushes open the kitchen door to ask, "Oh my God, Gary, what are you burning?" She turns to glare at Jim like it's his fault.

"Hey," Jim says defensively, "he's the chef."

"Gary never burns food," she fires back. "Dear Lord, how am I supposed to air out the front in the next ten minutes?" Her mouth purses. "And who _are_you?"

"Who are you?" Jim almost snaps, hackles rising.

"Calm down!" Mitchell bellows at both of them over wafts of smoke. "Elizabeth, you can use the industrial fan in the storeroom. Jim, help her move it to the front."

Jim crosses his arms mutinously.

Gary just looks at him.

Caving, he slips off his stool and follows the woman (_bitch_, but he doesn't think Gary would react nicely to that word) to the storeroom. She doesn't seem to want his help, however, because she ignores him and tries pushing the fan out of a corner by herself. Unable to stand there and watch the woman struggle, Jim shoulders his way into the cramped space and helps her drag it out into the open. Through joint effort, they manage to maneuver the unwieldy fan down the short hallway and into the dining area.

Once the fan is plugged in and running, the waitress gives him a resigned look. "Thanks," she says.

Jim, crouched in front of the fan to cool the beginnings of sweat on his skin (and because he has an affinity for fast wind), blinks up at her. "You're welcome." He hesitates only for a second before deciding he might as well give in to his curiosity. It's not like she hasn't already yelled at him. He stands up and sticks his hand out in greeting. "Jim Kirk."

Now _she_blinks at him. Reluctantly, the woman shakes his hand. "Elizabeth Dehner."

"So..." Jim can't help himself. "You like Gary."

She narrows her eyes. "Mitchell is my boss."

"You obviously like the way he _cooks_," Jim says with a sly smile.

Her eyes narrow some more.

Jim wisely says nothing else, but he feels immensely satisfied that his skills of observation seem to improve with age. Beth, for her part, goes back to ignoring him, and Jim obliges her by leaving her alone.

Gary is wearing his chef's hat when Jim returns to the kitchen. "Eat your food" Jim is told.

Jim drags the steaming dish on the steel counter under his nose and pokes at a slightly too crisp snow pea. "But it's burned," he complains.

"Eat it anyway."

"You're a horrible person."

"And you're a twenty year-old pain in my ass."

"'Cause I'm awesome," Jim says as he shoves rice into his mouth.

Gary slants a look at him. Some people would classify it as fond. Jim knows better than to point that out, or he'll be eating the chef's hat next so he focuses on the food in front of him.

With the faucet of the sink turned on, it's difficult to catch words. But Jim hears Gary all the same, as the man scrubs the wok he had used to make Jim's burnt meal (but how the food still tastes delicious, Jim doesn't know and can't fathom). Gary says, "If you think you could use my help, son, just ask. Promise me you'll ask."

"I promise," Jim says, eyes fixed on his plate.

The wok clangs against the side of the sink. At the sound, Jim looks up to find Gary watching him.

"And promise me you won't do anything stupid, Jim. Khan's no backwater dickhead. I met him during a catered event I was working at in Thailand and, Jim, _none_of the staff dared mention him, even in the kitchens; I thought it was a show of respect for a rich man but now I think they were too terrified to utter his name."

Jim cleans his plate of the last few grains of rice and carries it over to Gary at the sink. "It was good, thanks," he says, and "I'll see you later."

"Jim!"

Kirk pauses at the kitchen door to look over his shoulder. "I'm sorry but I can't make that promise, Gary."

The older man stares at him for a long moment, silent. Then, "At least call me first. Okay?"

"Okay," Jim agrees and leaves.

* * *

><p>"You're off today," Jose says the moment Jim steps foot into Jose's office inside the auto shop.<p>

"Gee, aren't you a ball of sunshine this morning?" Jim murmurs as he sets his duffel bag on a chair, opens it, and searches for his overalls.

Jose's sigh is full of annoyance. "Look, _chico_, I'm not going to fight about workdays with you. You want to work? Fine. You don't want to work? _Tell me ahead of time. _This isn't a college class you can skip when you're feeling lazy."

Jim winces. So Jose hasn't forgiven him yet. "I made a mistake, Jose. I'm sorry."

"I hope you are," his boss says, leveling a serious stare in his direction. "If I turn into an asshole, Jim, it'll be because you backed me into that corner."

"I won't," Jim says. Then, sheepishly, "Would it help if I buy you lunch to show my sincerity?"

There is a short moment of silence. Jose's mouth twitches like he wants to smile. "I am above bribes, Jim."

"My mother makes coconut cream pie on Wednesdays."

"Coconut?"

Jose likes coconut a lot more than Jim does. "With whipped cream." Jim tosses his change of clothes over his shoulder and heads to the door of the office, blue eyes twinkling. "So, still not susceptible to bribes?"

Jose looks pained.

"And did I mention there's a fried chicken special?"

Jose moves around his desk to shove a clipboard into Jim's chest. "You could get away with murder, _chico_."

"Because of fried chicken?"

"Yup," Jose agrees gruffly, "because of your mama's damned fried chicken. Now get the hell out of my office. There's a Buick with a loose belt and she's all yours."

* * *

><p>Seven minutes past noon, as Jose's truck pulls into a parking space outside of the Enterprise Diner, Jim's hand snakes out and catches his boss's shoulder in a tight, warning grip.<p>

"Wait a minute," he says. Jim's voice comes out in a startled croak.

Jose turns toward him, curious.

Jim's eyes are fixed on a spot far beyond the windshield of the truck. "Does that—is that _Bones?_"

Moving his gaze in the direction of Jim's, Jose makes a contemplative noise. "Looks like 'im. Who's he with?" The man beside Jose is silent long enough that Jose asks somewhat sharply, "Jim?"

"It's Pike," Jim says at last. He turns to Jose with a question in his eyes. "Why is Bones with Pike?"

Jose doesn't have an answer for him. They exit the truck once Pike's car turns left onto the highway and moves out of sight. Jim shakes off the strange, foreboding feeling riding him and tries to focus on eating a meal with his boss, but it's difficult. He cannot get the image of McCoy in the passenger seat of that car out of his head.

Uhura has no helpful information as she takes their orders of fried chicken and pie. "I don't have time to listen in on people's conversations, Jim. They had lunch, they talked. If you're so worried about it, ask Leonard when you see him."

So Jim tries to be casual in his inquiry that night. "Hey, Bones. Did you have a good lunch?"

Leonard shoots him a look over the top of Bo Peep's head, who is currently at home on his lap. "Yes, Jim," the man responds dryly, "I had lunch. I _am_a doctor. I get the importance of eating."

"Great," Jim says too brightly. He tries to squeeze in next to Bones but Bo Peep is having none of that. She growls until he moves to the far side of the couch. "So where did you go?"

McCoy frowns as he stares at the television. "Nowhere. Ate at the clinic."

Jim's smile turns to stone on his face. It takes effort to say "Oh, okay" and it would take more anger than he feels at the moment to voice the word _liar. _He isn't angry; he's hurt.

Then the idea of speaking another word on the subject becomes pointless as Spock returns from the bathroom to situate himself in the free spot between Kirk and McCoy. Bo Peep transfers herself to her owner's lap with the grace of her species and a dainty _mew_. Leonard gives up the remote to Spock who turns the channel to CNN, and thereafter McCoy settles into the time-honored tradition of complaining about the economy—and the eggheads CNN interviews who know very little about it ("It's all about their damned cameo appearances on TV, not making sense to the public," Leonard is saying)— while Spock counters every complaint with a purposefully irrelevant fact or two that makes Leonard grind his teeth.

Neither man notices when Jim vacates the couch to grab a beer. Rather than rejoining the argument-fest (Jim is of the opinion arguing has evolved into some kind of kinky foreplay for Spock and McCoy), he heads to his bedroom to contemplate in peace exactly when Leonard began to feel the need to lie to him, and what part Pike could play in the deception.

* * *

><p>"Jim. Jim!"<p>

Jim comes to, feeling groggy and completely unaware that he had fallen asleep on his bed. Bones is relentlessly jostling his shoulder.

"Mm, what?"

"For the love of Christ, would you get up? Khan's on TV."

"Khan?"

_Khan..._

"KHAN!" Jim has the misfortune of jerking upright and colliding foreheads with Leonard in a resounding _thwack_.

Jim staggers into his dresser, rubbing at his forehead. "Fuck, ow. What? Khan? Where?"

Leonard appears to be incapacitated on his bed, lying like a limp ragdoll with his hands to his face. "TV," his boyfriend groans. "Damn it, Jim, I think you broke my head."

Jim's apology is sidetracked by his scramble for the living room. Spock is sitting quietly on the couch, back ramrod straight, and is fixated on the television screen. Jim drops to his knees on the rug and puts his back to the couch. "Turn it up!" he demands without thinking.

As the volume increases, so does Khan's smooth voice. "...honor to help. Let this gift demonstrate the good will between Eugenics Corporation and Riverside, and represent our combined hope for a better, brighter future." The camera, which had been zoomed in on Khan's face, pulls back.

Jim puts the back of his hand against his mouth, watching horrified as Khan steps away from a podium and shakes hands with Mayor Wesley. Together, the two men hold up an oversized check made out to the City of Riverside. Cameras are flashing. Khan is smiling. Bob, Jim thinks, looks sick.

A reporter's voice says off-screen, "Tonight will mark a moment in Riverside history. Thanks to a generous donation of ten million dollars from Eugenics Corporation, hopes are high that the rumored City Hall budget cuts are no longer necessary to extend the life of several community programs which have fallen into jeopardy; Mayor Wesley has reinstated the plans for the new elementary school, and there is talk of funding a musical arts program here in the city for underprivileged..."

The words blur into meaningless jumbles of noise inside Kirk's head. A hand lands on the back of his neck and rubs at his skin soothingly. Jim shivers.

Leonard asks him, "Are you all right?"

Jim stares at the television a moment longer before looking at the man sitting to his right on the couch. "Khan just bought out my entire town, Bones. How could I possibly be all right?"

Leonard leans down and presses his mouth against the top of Jim's head. "He hasn't won yet, Jim," the man murmurs into his hair. "I swear to you, he hasn't won yet."

But Jim is fairly certain Khan has.

* * *

><p><strong>It is obviously my goal to grind everyone's hopes into dust. -_- <strong>


	5. Part Four

**Part Three was posted yesterday. Please read it first if you have not.**

* * *

><p><strong>Part Four<strong>

The hour is late, and they are in bed. Well, to be precise, Spock and Jim are in bed; Leonard is staying in Derby for the night after making a round of visits in Doctor Piper's stead. Tomorrow afternoon, they will ride to Derby to pick McCoy up. Jim loathes those trips, not because of his boyfriend, because of Khan and the fact it is obvious the hospital is slowly coming under the employ of Eugenics Corporation. Rumor has it that Khan will convert the building into a business unit once his own hospital is running effectively, but until that time it is guaranteed the executive will want full control of his closest rival medical center in this region of Iowa.

All of these thoughts leave Jim restless, and sleep has eluded him for the better part of the last hour. Spock is not asleep next to him, he surmises, because the soft glow of a bedside lamp casts shadows upon the portion of the room he can see. He can also hear Spock quietly turning the pages of the book he had been reading when Jim climbed into bed with the wistful hope of pleasant dreams. Kirk sighs almost soundlessly and wills himself not to fidget beneath the sheet covering him from the torso down.

A voice makes a quiet offer. "If the light troubles you, I will turn it off."

Crap, it's too late to pretend he is asleep. Spock has an innate sense for that sort of trickery. He replies, equally quiet, "No, it's fine." The ensuing silence lures him into thinking Spock has returned to his book.

"Do you wish to discuss it?" comes the solemn question.

Jim clutches at his pillow. "Discuss what?"

"The reason you are unable to sleep."

This time he doesn't bother to stifle his sigh. Jim rolls onto his back and frowns at the ceiling for a few seconds. There are plenty of issues affecting his sleep tonight. He picks the most prevalent one. "Do you think we'll become complacent?"

He feels Spock shift position. Jim turns to look at him in time to see the edge of Spock's reading glasses flash with a reflection of the lamplight silhouetting the man's figure. Spock sounds mildly interested as he speaks while removing his eyeglasses. " I gather you do not refer to the word in an endearing capacity. Is there a particular reason you are concerned?"

Jim flushes. His hands automatically reach out to play with the fabric of the bedsheet; it is a nervous habit, like the methodical shredding of paper napkins, and an action he barely registers doing.

It takes two attempts for Jim to begin his response. He settles on another question: "Do you think Bones will—I don't know—get bored with this?"

"Will you become bored, Jim?"

"No!" His temper flares before he can punch it down. "Will _you?_" he tosses back, sitting up in bed, then mentally slaps himself for the unjust retaliation.

But before he can work his way around an apology, Spock replies, "I may."

The answer surprises Jim. "What?"

"One day, I may feel dissatisfied. The possibilities are infinite, Jim, so we cannot discount them entirely. Yet, at the moment? No, I am not tired of or disillusioned with the relationship between you, Leonard, and myself. Nor do I wish to be."

How does Spock always knows the right thing to say? Jim relaxes and braces his arms on the bed so he can lean over and give Spock a light kiss on the mouth. "Me either," he agrees softly, pulling back. "Maybe it shouldn't make sense, what we're trying to have, but it does for me—here." He taps the center of his chest with a finger for emphasis. "I really don't want to give us up—or give up on us, Spock, not ever."

Spock is smiling at him in that understated but beautiful way. "Your sentiment is admirable, Jim." The smile fades slightly. "But I must ask, why are questioning Leonard's feelings?"

Jim's grimace clearly alarms Spock to some degree, so Kirk tries to backtrack as quickly as possible to assure him nothing is wrong (though it is, isn't it? he chastises himself silently). "I can't help it, Spock—geez, don't look like that. Every time I think about it, I realize that of the three of us Bones has the most to lose."

Spock's expression could be interpreted as _I fail to understand why you frequently contemplate such dismal thoughts _but he says instead, "Jim, you are not considering the facts correctly. Leonard, in essence, has the least to lose because he has offspring and family in Georgia—as you have your family and friends in Riverside. I however entered this relationship with the fewest attachments; therefore I am the most vulnerable, should our relationship come to an end."

Spock, surprised by Jim's swift reaction, lets Jim take the book out of his hands. Jim places the book with care on the night stand before making use of the improved access to his boyfriend to plaster himself chest-to-hip against Spock.

"Don't ever worry about being alone, Spock," Jim tells him. "You will always have me as a friend, if not as a lover. I promise."

His friendship with Gaila is a testament to the fact it can be done.

Spock runs his fingers gently along the curve of Jim's jaw. "You remind me, Jim, precisely why I am convinced it is impossible to stop caring for you. Your heart is remarkably generous."

Jim hides his pleased blush by turning his attention to the outer shell of Spock's ear, which he traces his mouth. He murmurs against it, after a tiny nip with teeth, "I can be generous in other ways too."

"As I am aware..." Spock's hands anchor his hips in place.

Tiring his body out so that he can sleep is, it seems, a very pleasant exercise—one which Spock is dedicated to. And Jim loves him for it.

* * *

><p>Jim uses his hip to prop himself against a nurses' station inside the Derby hospital and grins guilelessly at the lady behind it. "Hey there, gorgeous, would you mind paging Doctor McCoy?"<p>

She looks him up and down, and definitely not in a checking-for-weapons kind of way. Jim is on the verge of saying "Like what you see?" (because, really, what else is a guy like him supposed to say if somebody appreciates his assets?) when a familiar voice says, "Stop flirting with the staff, Jim. They're busy."

"Bones!" Jim's grin grows as he turns around. "Jealous?"

McCoy gives him a dark look but nonetheless pulls Jim away from the nurse and leaves his hand possessively on Jim's arm. The nurse, Jim spies over his shoulder as he is escorted down the hall, looks somewhat depressed. She mutters something to a passing female colleague and they both turn to stare in his direction, shaking their heads.

If he weren't being shoved into an elevator, he would have called out, "I know, life's not fair, ladies!"  
>Jim snickers to himself.<p>

"Why do you do that?" Bones growls at him as soon as the door closes. The doctor gives one of the elevator buttons a vicious jab.

"Do what?" Jim wants to know, not quite understanding what Leonard is asking him. "Bones, quit attacking the button. I think the elevator got the message."

McCoy rolls his eyes but drops his hand to his side. After a second or two, he rocks back on his heels and demands, "_That, _Jim—flirting. When you know you shouldn't lead them on!"

"Who says I was leading anybody anywhere? Besides, I'm good-looking, really really good-looking. It's a code or something; I have to flirt."

"Don't know how I'm going to get you outta this elevator, your ego's so damned big," mutters his boyfriend. Then Leonard sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Never mind. Where'd you hide Spock?"

Jim nudges McCoy until they are facing each other. "Spock hides himself. You know how much he _loves _hospitals."

"There's something wrong with both of you," Leonard tells him. "A hospital is a safe place." The hard line of his mouth softens after Jim kisses it twice in a row. "Okay, Jim, that's enough."

"Hmmm?" Jim is going for a record. How long can they make out before the elevator stops to let somebody on?

_Ding_.

Jim pulls away, annoyed, as the elevator grinds to a halt. Leonard smirks at him knowingly when two elderly ladies scurry into the elevator, forcing the two men to separate to make room for their gigantic hats, and begin to gossip about their knitting circle. "Can you believe she went on a date at _her_age?" one of them crows to the other.

Jim sulks against the wall of the elevator and doesn't bother to hide his staring at (or longing for) Leonard's kissable mouth. He isn't certain if, when the women exit on the seventh floor, one of them intentionally hits him with her purse on the way out. His balls definitely say _yes_.

Leonard is laughing at him and does not seem inclined to stop any time soon. Jim limps out of the elevator and automatically heads to the Children's Ward, ignoring his boyfriend trailing behind him. Leonard catches his arm just before Jim reaches a set of double doors and halts him to say, "I'll be back in an hour. Stay put."

"Bones, I'm not a kid."

"Says the man about to walk into a playroom."

"You're the one who brought me up here!"

"Which is where you were gonna head to the moment I turned my back. I'm just skipping the hunt and treeing the prey, darlin'. Now be a good boy, play nice with the other children, 'n Daddy'll be back in an hour to get you."

Jim watches Bones walk away and spends a long five minutes fighting off all of the hundreds of dirty fantasies his mind dredged up at Bones' "daddy talk". Finding a bathroom to wash his face with cold water helps immensely. Once less flustered, he enters the playroom, pretends not to see the stiffening of the attendant—Gilda, oh crap, why did _she_have to be the one on duty?—and Bones must have known that, the bastard!—and cries, "Air hockey! Hey, Davey, wanna play?"

A young boy in a wheelchair perks up at the sound of his voice. "Mr. Jim! You came back!"

"I always come back," Jim says sagely as he wheels the boy over to the air hockey table. "I promised you a rematch, didn't I?"

The child's delighted face, transforming from a wan paleness to a proper pink, is worth all of the fear and anxiety Jim suffered on the road to the Derby hospital—which is exactly why he never says _no _when Spock asks him if he wants to tag along to pick up Bones.

* * *

><p>Leonard and Jim, per usual, find Spock hiding in the hospital cafeteria. Today, rather than working on legal documents, the man is reading the book Jim prevented him from finishing the previous night. Spock lowers the hard-back as they approach his table in a secluded corner of the cafeteria. Bones takes one look at its titled cover and says, "How can you read that crap?"<p>

"I highly doubt 'crap' is the public opinion of this biography. It is enlightening."

Jim doesn't like the challenging sparkle in Bones' eyes, nor the amusement in Spock's. He cuts in blithely, pointing at the picture of the man on the cover of the book, "Who's George Stephanopoulos?"

Leonard says "One of those crazy kingmakers" at the same time Spock explains "A journalist and former political advisor."

"Sooo..." Jim blinks. "He's Greek?"

And that, effectively, is the end of the conversation (much to Jim's delight) as Spock and McCoy come to a silent agreement to withhold their "discussion" until their audience is able to appreciate the subject matter. There is something to be said for pretending political ignorance, Jim has always thought, and this simply validates his beliefs.

Pleased with himself, Jim wheedles money for food out of Spock and goes to the cafeteria line with a joyful bounce to his step.

* * *

><p>"Doctor McCoy!" A young woman in business suit and low heels flags down Bones as she hurries past security and through the main entrance of the hospital.<p>

Leonard asks Jim and Spock to "Hang on a sec" and meets her halfway. They speak in low tones for a long minute; Jim not-so-subtly strains to catch any part of the conversation he can mainly because the woman's face looks familiar, though he cannot place it in his memory. At last Leonard nods, thanks her, and they part ways.

Jim asks curiously when McCoy rejoins them in their trek to the parking lot, "What was that about?"

"Mmm," the dark-haired man says, lengthening his stride toward Spock's Corvette. "Just confirmation of a meeting I requested." He glances at Spock. "I'll need to come back here on Thursday morning, if you don't mind."

"I do not," Spock replies graciously.

Jim pokes Bones in the shoulder. "What kind of meeting?"

Leonard frowns at him. "Department. Why?"

"Since when are you part of the hospital staff, Bones?"

"I have patients here, you know."

"Yeah but with a visitor's restrictions. You're not on Derby payroll," Jim argues.

"What's that matter, Jim? Maybe somebody here thinks my opinion counts. Have you considered that?" McCoy snaps in return.

Stung, Jim climbs into the backseat of the Corvette with a flippant "Whatever."

Leonard sinks into the passenger seat after shooting Jim an unreadable look. His silence hangs like a cloud over their drive back to Riverside. Not that Jim notices this, because he is too busy sorting through what he had overheard of the conversation between Leonard and that woman, obviously employed as administrative personnel to someone important.

She had said to McCoy, "He sends his regards, Doctor, and wishes you to know he is pleased you have reconsidered his offer. He will meet with you at 9 a.m. on the tenth."

The nervous curdling in Jim's stomach has nothing to do with Leonard's glower in the rearview mirror; Jim tries to justify his suspicions of what Bones might be planning but instead finds himself imagining something he had thought impossible turning very probable.

But Bones wouldn't betray him.

Would he?


	6. Part Five

**Just a short note... THANK YOU to those of you encouraging me to continue this. I often feel so close, so so close, to giving up on this story. Every hit Jim takes is a hit for the soft-hearted author, too. And when he loses hope, so do I that there will be a happily-ever-after! D:**

* * *

><p><strong>Part Five<strong>

Jim isn't much for words when he is a seething kind of angry. The target of his anger never stands a chance against him; the first blow takes Christopher Pike by surprise and, as intended, is meant to leave a legacy of a black-and-purple bruise for some weeks. That Jim doesn't succeed in breaking the man's nose disappoints him greatly.

Pike catches himself in a shocked backwards stumble and stills, touching the back of his hand to his nose. He stares at the tell-tale streak of blood against his skin as if it is an alien thing he doesn't quite know what to make of. At last, when Pike lifts his moody grey eyes to Kirk, the corner of his mouth twitches sardonically.

Jim curls his lips, too, but in a partially formed snarl. He leaps toward Pike again, right fist striking out on instinct. The man glides smoothly out of range and, in an attack almost too quick to see, has Jim pinned against the kitchen counter.

"What are you doing, Jimmy?" Pike's tone of voice holds mild reproach.

Jim bucks beneath the arm pressing down between his shoulder blades; his response is incoherent with rage. A second longer—a second too long which almost causes Jim's temper to spike past the point of no return—and Pike's weight disappears. Jim twists around, breathing heavily through his nose and his spine pressed painfully into the edge of the counter.

Pike has folded his arms, eyebrows drawn together, and taken a wide stance; yet the expression in his eyes is almost eerily calm. "What are you doing, Jimmy?" he repeats.

"You—" Jim drags in air between words. "—bastard, you—fucking—bastard!"

"You need to calm down, son."

"Don't fucking call me son!" Jim screams. "You're not my father! You'll never be my _father_—and never my fucking _stepfather!_"

That steely calm of Pike's wavers for a moment. Something sharp, brittle, flickers through the man's eyes. "Jim," Pike begins again, "I'm not—"

Jim slams the side of his fist down onto the counter. "Why did you do it?" he demands.

Pike briefly closes his eyes, grimacing. When he speaks, he grits his words as though his own temper is close to snapping its leash. "Is this about your mother?"

Jim sees red. "You want her to sell out! You think I don't know whose side you're really on?"

"I told her she would be smart to take Khan's money while it's available," Pike counters. "I'm thinking of _Winona_, not Khan."

To Jim's ears, that is an admission of guilt.

Pike does not have the strength to withstand a truly enraged Kirk. The two men go down in a tangle of limbs. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jim realizes he has overturned the table in his rage, maybe broken a chair; some of his mother's favorite crockery lies scattered in pieces on the kitchen floor, and he knows he shouldn't break the things she loves, because none of this is her fault.

No, it's Pike's.

The knowledge consumes him, chokes him in a maelstrom of emotion—red-hot anger, betrayal, pain. Straddling Pike, he lets everything burning him up guide his actions. He manages a sharp right hook to Pike's jaw, despite that some of his momentum is stolen by such close proximity; but before he can bring his fist down again, Pike slams the heel of his hand under Jim's chin. Jim jerks back, tasting blood in his mouth. In the moment of distraction, Pike flips them over, trapping one of Kirk's arms beneath his body. As soon as his back hits the floor, Jim retaliates by delivering a kidney shot with his free hand—_once, twice_, hard and fast. His opponent only clenches his teeth against a grunt of pain and wedges a knee right beneath Jim's ribs, pressing down.

The air is forced out of Jim's lungs, and it's difficult to pull more air back in.

A snap of a command. "Get a hold of yourself, Kirk!"

An _order_, from Pike, like Jim is some fucking cadet to be reeled in by his authority. Jim's blood boils at the mere thought, and he thrashes like an animal under Pike.

Pike's snap becomes a growl. "I don't want to hurt you! Don't force me to hurt you!"

He doesn't care that he is suffocating; he doesn't care that the buzzing in his ears steadily grows in volume, drowning out the rumble of a truck arriving outside; he doesn't care about anything except that he is losing to Christopher Pike, the asshole who is playing his mother.

_His mother_.

Jim would kill to protect her; in fact, he is focused soley on the thought of ripping out Pike's throat with his teeth. Since he can't reach that far up with the man's full weight holding him down, he settles for biting Pike's hand. Pike shakes him off with a curse, like he is a rabid dog, and Jim uses the opportunity to free his trapped arm then slam his elbow into the juncture between Pike's neck and shoulder.

Jim supposes he shouldn't be surprised when Pike finally hits back with enough force to make his vision black out. Though his vision clears in matter of seconds, black spots still sporadically dance at its edges, warning him he isn't fully recovered.

He hears a key in the kitchen door lock and only has a moment to think _not now_before sunlight floods the kitchen when the door swings open; seconds later, somebody shrieks his name.

Pike's head jerks around, and Jim watches the man pale beneath his tan. The sound of his mother's name coming out of Pike's mouth is pitiful.

He groans in relief when the pressure on his diaphragm lets up, then almost immediately begins to cough as he sucks in one desperate breath after another. There is a blur of a patterned dress and a figure that might be his mother's. It definitely sounds like her when it shrills "Get off him!"

Pike backs off, stands up. Maybe it is Jim's imagination that the man's hands are trembling.

Jim's adrenaline rush vanishes alongside Pike's retreat, leaving him feeling like a mishandled sack of potatoes. The blood sliding in a thick rivulet down the back of his throat is uncomfortable at best, so Jim rolls onto his side to spit out what he can before he chokes. Gingerly, out of rout, he inspects his teeth with his tongue and is glad to find that none of them are loose or missing. Busted teeth are definitely the worst part of getting hit in the mouth.

"Jimmy!" Winona drops to her knees in front of him, hands reaching out to touch him but recoiling at the last second. He winces at the evident horror on her face.

"Mom..." he manages (but not telling her _I'm all right _because how could he be?) then coughs as talking dislodges more blood in his throat.

She props him up. Jim, after having determined that Pike is no longer in the kitchen, finally takes in his surroundings without the red haze of rage. The kitchen looks awful. He isn't certain if the blood on the floor is his or Pike's. He didn't even realize they had rolled into the broken crockery; certainly he hadn't felt it digging into his back.

His mother lifts a wet washcloth to his face, and it is only belatedly he guesses she had left his side to retrieve it.

Enough of this.

He pushes away the towel and rises.

Winona's fingers dig into his arm. "Sit down, baby," she urges him.

He shrugs off her touch and wipes at the corner of his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. As he staggers toward the kitchen door, his mother tries to block his path.

"Jimmy, please! Let me at least—"

"No!" he snaps out, an instant rebuttal of any argument she might make. The overwhelming sense of betrayal rises again, drowning him. Jim turns around to glare at her. "If you want to give up the Enterprise, Mom, then fucking sell it already."

Her face blanches of color.

"But don't let that bastard Pike be the reason you do."

He slams out of the kitchen, ignoring the cry of "Jim!" at his back.

It's all going to shit, all of it, his life, his family, his happiness. He can't go back to Bones looking like a broken man because then he will have to confess he knows Bones is betraying him too. He can't go back to Spock because Spock is connected to Bones and always will be and he'd rather shove a knife in his chest than pit them against one another.

But he cannot run away.

Khan is expecting an answer soon. Even if Jim has no idea what his answer might be, he cannot ignore the question. The offer.

_Will you give me what I desire, Kirk? Will you spare your family and friends? _The underlying message had been clear.

He climbs onto his bike, shuddering inside his father's leather jacket, and points the purring engine beneath him to his last sanctuary. The journey seems too quick, too easy. The gates of the sprawling compound part for him without protest. At the end of the drive, a Q meets Jim with the words, "Her Ladyship is expecting you."

He drops his helmet into the Q's hands and follows him, saying nothing.

But Lady Q is of no help to him. She only says, looking tired and old and impossibly small in her oversized dress, "You must save us all, James."

[~~~]

_Two days previous..._

James Kirk sits in a circle of chairs staring at his hands, head bowed. Throughout the course of these anti-Eugenics-takeover meetings, the attendance has gone from dozens of incensed Riverside citizens to fourteen of Jim's closest family and friends to ten, then six—now none. He knows some of them are missing tonight's meeting because of conflicting schedules or because they are needed elsewhere—Spock is driving Bones out to Derby for a last-minute call-in and his mother feels she cannot leave the diner on a holiday weekend. But it hurts, however rationally he tries to console himself; it hurts to be alone, listening to his own breathing in a wide, empty room.

He suspects that some of the people who don't come tonight won't come back at all. Khan has been whittling away at every person, inspiring fear here, sweetening a deal there. The vocal protest against Eugenics Corp. may have been strong in the beginning but over time people lost faith they can change anything, and they lost their hope while watching their town slowly and inevitably transform into someone else's dream.

The fighting spirit took a hard blow when Jim's case against Khan was dismissed for lack of evidence. Since then, the hard blows haven't stopped coming. He wonders if, next week, he will even bother to show up here himself.

_The last man down_, Jim thinks bitterly.

He is wrapped up in his miserable thoughts, chastising himself for continuing to wait and so he does not catch the sound of heels hurriedly rapping down the hallway until someone pushes open the heavy door to the lodge's conference room.

"Jim!" Uhura resituates her large purse on her shoulder, frowning, as she approaches the circle of unoccupied chairs and one forlorn man. "Well," the woman murmurs, "this is disappointing. I thought I was late."

Jim scrubs an unforgiving hand against his hair. "Technically you are," he says dryly, holding up his wristwatch. "The meeting started fifteen minutes ago."

Uhura takes a seat next to him. "And it's over already?" she asks hesitantly.

He shakes his head, unable to speak.

"Oh, Jim," Uhura says softly. Her hand catches one of his. "Don't make more out of tonight than it is. This is just a fluke."

He sits up from his slump. "No it isn't, Uhura." He interrupts her before she can reply, frustrated. "I can count on one hand the number of people who still care about our cause. And what chance in hell do a few of us possibly have at keeping Khan out of Riverside?"

Uhura's narrowed eyes always mean trouble. Jim doesn't duck fast enough and takes the full brunt of her purse to the side of his head. He almost tumbles out of his chair. Scowling and rubbing at the purse's point of contact, he demands, "What was that for?"

"For being a coward," his friend says.

"I am not a coward!"

"You're talking like one."

He puffs. "Am not!"

"Jimmy is a'fraidy cat!" she sing-songs, swinging her ponytail.

He makes a fizzling noise and has to remind himself he is only years away from thirty. He is NOT going to react.

The look on Nyota's face says she knows exactly what he is thinking, and her smile turns wicked. "Aww, Jimmy _is _a'fraidy cat. Is it my claws that scare you?" She pointedly flicks her long nails at his face.

She should know by now her only warning will be Jim pretending to look entirely too innocent. But maybe she has forgotten, because the moment Uhura relaxes, Jim snatches her purse out of her lap and sprints away (knocking over chairs in his haste) with said stolen bag clutched to his chest, cackling.

She jumps to her feet and shouts furiously after him, "Give me back my purse, you asshole!"

Across the room now, he unzips her purse and grabs the first object he spies. "Oh look, a mirror. I always knew you were vain, Uhura." He tosses the mirror aside, snickering, where it clatters to the floor.

Uhura, snarling, knocks a chair out of her way as she stalks toward him. "Jim... Give. It. Back."

He dances away. Another item is unearthed. "Spa coupons?" He counts them. "Exactly how many times can a person go to a spa in a week?" The coupons flutter into the air over his head. He continues methodically emptying her purse while maintaining distance between them. "A quarter, a ring?...wow you look like a crack addict in your license picture. Breath mints, lipstick—" He sniffs the lipstick but it smells vaguely medicinal. Nyota is definitely chasing him around the room now. He starts a backwards jog. "—nail clippers which you obviously don't use and, oooh, a picture of Scotty, how _cute_, Scotty and Uhura sitting in a tree..."

It isn't until he pulls out a tampon and stares at it for a span of seconds ('cause he's not sure if a period joke will get him killed or not) that Uhura screeches like a banshee, jerks off one of her high heels and comes barreling at him, all sense of playful tolerance gone. He abandons the purse with a "Whoops?" (maybe he wasn't supposed to see that?) in favor of running away from the crazed woman.

Nearly two decades after their friendship began, Uhura still runs faster than he does. When her other high heel goes sailing past his head and nails the door, he knows he is going to die. He hiccups a little in his hysteria, wonders if there is a cabinet or place small enough in the building he can cram himself into to hide, and decides tomorrow's newspaper headline is going to read:

**Man Taunts PMS-ing Woman, Dies Violent Death**  
>sub-headed by <strong>Female Population Agrees He Had It Coming<strong>

Uhura is screaming his name as Jim ducks into the kitchen area of the lodge. Upon noticing the array of knives, tongs, and turkey basters, he imagines he just made her task of murder that much easier.

Ah well. At least he isn't depressed anymore.

* * *

><p>Things always look brighter in the morning, or so it is said.<p>

Jim is just glad he isn't dead. Explaining to Spock why he had an impromptu hair cut on the left side of his head (thank God Uhura didn't snip off one of his ears in the process of humiliating him) and the word JERK written on his forehead in permanent marker did not earn him any sympathy points. Spock had said nothing as Jim spent hours repeatedly scouring the skin on his forehead in the bathroom but was, in fact, very obliging about trimming the rest of Jim's hair so he didn't look like a man who had stuck his head in a blender.

However, Jim suspects Spock may have taken a picture of him at some point before the offer to fix his massacred hair. Spock isn't quite the blackmail-type so Jim cannot fathom what the man intends to do with a picture of a woeful, victimized Jim. He supposes this is where trust in one's partner comes in. If only he were that trusting.

Looking semi-decent (not the disaster in the wake of hurricane Uhura like last night), Jim leaves Spock's house for his own apartment in the early morning. He intends to find one of his old baseball caps to wear until his hair isn't so miserably short and spiky. Jose will have questions—and undoubtedly jokes, too, about his new look.

He is patting himself down for his house keys when a voice catches up with him just outside of his apartment. Recognizing that voice, and freezing on the spot because of it, he hunches his shoulders and redoubles his efforts to find his house keys. Where the fuck are you? he thinks wildly. No way did he leave them at Spock's... It is because of Bo Peep he put them on a separate key ring in the first place.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!"

"Go to hell, Frank," he snarls without turning around.

A hand grips his shoulder. Jim jerks back and shoves at the man on instinct. His heart doubles its pounding in his chest but he gives no outward sign of panic, except the clenching of his jaw.

"Don't _touch _me," he warns in a low voice.

Frank Rand—no longer a deputy of Riverside but now the newest addition to Khan's security team—politely backs up a step with his palms facing forward in gesture of _calm down. _"Ain't here for trouble, Kirk," Rand says.

"Yeah fucking right. You're not allowed near me, or did you forget that?"

"I'm working for Khan now."

"Which does nothing to revoke a restraining order!" Jim snaps. "Now leave me alone, or I'll call Komack."

But Rand says mildly, "You'd be surprised what Khan can do."

Don't take the bait. Don't. Jim silently goes back to searching his pockets for his house keys. When Frank, after watching Jim for a moment, presents the missing set of keys with smirk and "You dropped 'em on the pavement" Jim doesn't bother to say thank you.

As he unlocks his apartment door, Frank talks at his back. "This isn't a social visit, Kirk. Khan wants to see you."

"I have nothing to say to Khan," Jim says flatly, hand on the doorknob. But what is the trick? Frank wouldn't be here without an ace up his sleeve. So Jim waits.

Frank does not disappoint him. "Rumor is the Enterprise is going to be Khan's."

Jim's hand spasms around the doorknob. "No, it isn't."

"You sure?"

He turns to Frank. "I don't know where you get your gossip, but my mom would rather burn the building down herself than hand it over to Khan." He flinches the moment the words are out of his mouth.

Rand says nothing of the reminder of their past. Instead, he tucks his hands into his pockets. "She's got a new beau, boy. Love makes a person do strange things."

Jim wants to hit Frank. He really, really does. "Just... shut up. I don't want to hear it. This conversation is over."

"I can't give you that choice." Frank pulls back his green hunter's jacket, revealing the gun clipped to his side. "Khan wants to talk to you, and so that's what's going to happen. Now, we can do this the easy way—where you get in the car and behave—or the hard way."

"You would shoot me on my sidewalk in broad daylight? I didn't think your kind of stupid could get dumber, Frank."

"Trust me, I'd love to shut that smart mouth of yours permanently," the man opposite him snarls. "No, the hard way is I knock you over the head and carry you to the car. I told you, Khan gets what Khan wants."

Jim shuts his apartment door and locks it, then folds his arms. "Do it," he dares. "In fact, why don't we make a scene in front of my neighbor's window?"

Frank's hand goes to his holstered gun but stays there. "Kirk..."

"You're a coward," he tells Frank, thinking of Uhura's remark last night, "but you're not an idiot. If you attack me, Khan can't keep you out of jail."

"He's got enough money and lawyers to do any fucking thing he wants. I'll say you provoked me; it'll stick. Why do you think Khan sent me here knowing our history? Because he doesn't worry about the damned law."

Jim would never admit Frank is right. "And now you work for him, so that makes you above the law too? I always knew you were a dirty cop, Frank, but I didn't know you thought you were God."

Frank grimaces. "I'm not God. But Khan might as well be. Just get in the car, Kirk."

Jim weighs his options. "Will I be coming back?"

Snorting, Frank pulls his hand away from his gun and zips his jacket. "He isn't going to kill you. Fact is, if you're dead you can't fulfill his plans."

Jim cannot help his curiosity over what Frank is hinting at. "How much do you know?"

"Probably enough that I _will _be a dead man if I keep talking. You coming or not?"

"Did I ever have a choice?"

"I already gave you that answer."

So he did, Jim thinks. So he did. When Frank heads toward a parked SUV, Jim follows. Let Rand think Jim believes he is backed into a corner; truthfully, however, Jim sees no other way to fight his enemy now except by anticipating Khan's next move. And that won't happen unless he talks to Mr. Singh himself.

* * *

><p>Somehow Khan has found an entire villa to rent or buy. Or maybe he built it. Jim doesn't know. The property is far enough out in the countryside that no one would think to look for it there, situated among Iowa farmsteads. Certainly no one will look for Jim at Khan's home-away-from-home.<p>

At the top of a winding staircase is an enclosed brick balcony decorated with tropical foliage. Khan is seated at a metal table, legs crossed, reading a newspaper. He doesn't look up as Jim and Rand push open the small iron gate to enter the balcony. Jim wonders why he was led around the outside of the estate rather than taken through the main house. Could Gaila be here?

"Hello, Mr. Kirk. How good of you to join me." Khan neatly folds the newspaper and sets it aside. The smile he flashes at Jim is all teeth.

Next to Jim, Rand shifts like he is uncomfortable, antsy, or both. Jim takes a pointed step away from Khan's bodyguard and focuses on not looking as tense as he feels. "So," he begins casually, "you kidnap people now?"

Khan's laugh is rich and full-bodied, not at all the laugh of a nervous man. "You are amusing," Khan says once his laughter fades. "Please, sit with me. I prefer to conduct my business in the open when I can. I believe this pleasant weather will hold for the duration of our discussion." Ever hospitable, Khan asks, "Have you eaten?"

Jim vacillates between playing along and forcing Khan to give up the pretense that their meeting is anything but cordial. Watching the man watch him, he decides nothing will convince this two-faced man to give up one of his masks. He pulls out a chair and sits opposite of his enemy, leaning forward on his elbows and flashing his brightest grin. "What's on the menu?"

Rand seems to take this as his cue to leave them alone.

"Hm," the dark-haired man murmurs thoughtfully. "My resident chef is not averse to changing his scheduled courses at the request of a guest. Tell me what you desire, and I shall see it prepared for you."

"I wouldn't want to impose," Jim demurs. "After all, who could have foreseen my visit today, Mr. Singh?"

Khan smiles again. "Those who plan accordingly are the most adaptable."

"According to what?" Jim fires back.

Khan's expression turns subtly chiding, as if Jim should know the answer. "To chaos, Mr. Kirk."

Jim folds his arms on the table, settling into the conversation. "One would think chaos is bad for business."

Someone approaches the walled balcony from the stairs but remains just on the other side of the iron gate. Jim has never seen this person before; he can guess as much that this is one of Khan's minions.

Khan makes a negligent gesture with his fingers, a king telling a servant _you are not needed at this time_. The man bows and leaves.

"In truth," Khan continues, "chaos can engender a lucrative business environment. Consider one of the world wars. Who profited most from death?"

Jim answers grimly, "Anyone who could provide the means to create death."

"Yes," agrees Khan. "Someone must gain when others lose. This is the natural balance of our world."

"Tell me, Khan," Jim wants to know, "what it is you intend for me to lose so that you can gain what you want?"

"Excellent," the man says, cool and casual, his dark eyes glinting in the morning light. "You never disappoint me. Let us speak of our particular gains and losses, then. I shall say, simply, I require but one loss on your behalf, Kirk. But it is not an easy thing for men such as us to forfeit."

"What is it?"

"Respect. You must lose the respect of your people."

Jim is silent for some seconds, turning that statement over. Rather asking what it is Khan wants him to do, he says instead, "I know what you gain, but what do I gain?"

"Good, good. We negotiate. I shall grant pardon to those you wish to be pardoned."

Jim straightens, asking sharply, "What do you mean, pardoned?"

"You must understand the policies of war, Kirk. The victor cannot allow his enemies to flourish in his kingdom unless he chooses to grant them pardon—with conditions, of course. All those who stand against Eugenics—against _me_—will not do well in my city; that is a given." Khan is watching Jim closely, measuring his reactions. Jim strives to remain as unperturbed as Spock during a court case. "I will, however, agree to... overlook any past discrepancies of those you name. They will have protection equal to that of the other citizens of Riverside and, should you ask, equal prosperity." Khan finishes softly, "My offer is a generous one; I have no desire to be as merciless as you believe me to be."

Jim suppresses a shiver and leans away from Khan as far as his chair will allow. "You've based your offer on a false assumption."

Khan asks, amused, "What is the false assumption, Kirk?"

"That you'll win."

"I have battled against men more ruthless than you. Men who resorted to crude tactics such as setting fire to my construction zones or inventing malicious mistruths about my company, about me. In every instance, I won. I always intend to be the winner. Why do you believe you pose a challenge to me?"

"Obviously you consider me to be a challenge; otherwise why bring me here to negotiate?"

"Touché," Khan murmurs, unaffected by remark. "As I said, I can offer you a fair trade." He pauses. "I will also double the offer for the Enterprise."

Jim stiffens. "The diner isn't for sale."

"Ah." The sound alone means _you poor fool, how could you not know? _"Already my man is determined to persuade Winona Kirk to take the opportunity."

It takes two tries but he manages to say the word, heart thumping in his chest. "Who?"

Khan's eyes are smiling though his mouth is not. "I believe your father called him Chris. You call him Captain."

Jim's world shatters and rebuilds itself in that second.

"Pike is not—" He chokes.

"Not my agent but perhaps an agent of the Q? Kirk, you must never forget—every man has a price."

He sends the chair toppling over. "No!"

Khan smoothes a corner of the folded newspaper, ignoring his outburst. "Consider my offer, Mr. Kirk. Confess your sins to Riverside. Tell them... you lied. Tell them you purposefully set out to discredit me." Khan's eyes flick up to Jim's eyes, hold him fast, demanding his attention. "That you set me up. Then, when that respect I always hear coupled with the name James T. Kirk is gone, leave Riverside and I will see to the rest. I give you my word."

"Your word," Jim's voice is strangled, "means shit to me."

Khan only says, "I fear you won't have your breakfast after all, Mr. Kirk. You must forgive me; I had forgotten my cook usually takes this day out of the week as a personal day. My apologies." He tilts his head to the staircase. "Mr. Rand will escort you home."

Jim is shaking, not from fear but a building rage. In the eye of that growing storm is a name; the name of the man he had been told he could trust; the name of a man clearly after his mother; the name of a man meeting secretly with his boyfriend.

Christopher Pike.

Jim is going to kill him.


	7. Part Six

**Part Six**

Jim has no answers. Never before in his life has he felt so helpless; never before has he been unable to plan a counterattack, to find a way to fight back. This is such a shock to Jim, such a contradiction to his belief that he can win no matter the odds or the opponent, it threatens to reform his world. And even now, he rails against change, clinging to the edges of a precipice which terrifies him beyond imagining.

The arms around his body tighten their hold. Jim responds by painfully gripping the back of Leonard's shirt, certain if he lets go nothing will ever be the same again.

"Jim, you're scarin' me." The husky tone of McCoy's voice is infused with concern. "What's the matter?"

"Bones..." Jim buries his nose against Leonard's neck and breathes in deeply.

Leonard's arms loosen, and one of his hands begins to trace a slow path up and down Jim's spine. "Jim," the man whispers, and he sounds pained, "you've got to tell me what's wrong. I'll do anything you want, anything if... Just talk to me?" He ends with a plea.

Jim sighs and lightly presses his lips to a spot of Bones' exposed skin in apology before easing back. "Am I freaking you out that much?"

"Yes!"

He tries to untangle his limbs from Leonard's but they seem to have a mind of their own; or it could be that Leonard's grip has turned hard and won't release him. "No, you don't," McCoy rumbles. "It isn't fair for you to run away this time. We'll stay in this room as long as it takes to talk."

Jim opens his mouth to protest.

"I don't care," Leonard interrupts. "I'll tell Chapel to send everybody home."

He should have never come to the clinic to have a meltdown. "We can talk at home," Jim disagrees, realizing how selfish he is to keep Bones from his patients. "It can wait 'till then, Bones."

"Can it?" comes the soft question. "I don't think so. You look like you've had the wind knocked out of you." The man shifts him toward a chair. "Sit down, darlin'."

Jim tugs his wrist away from McCoy, frowning. "Are you taking my pulse?"

"You were a stone's throw from hyperventilation."

"I did _not _panic," Jim says, straightening in his chair.

Leonard looks at him, mouth quirked but eyes serious. "I'm not arguing with you about what I know." There is a pregnant pause. "So, are you going to explain what's going on or should I roust Spock outta his study?"

It's amazing how imposing their boyfriend can seem when Spock deems it necessary. Jim wonders if maybe there isn't a touch of a wildly frightening man within Spock, one simply waiting for the right provocation to surface and scare the shit out of everyone. Jim is mildly surprised he hasn't pissed Spock off to that level yet.

Under Leonard's unwavering stare, Jim fidgets in his seat like a two-year old. "_Bones._"

"We have all day. In fact, I've changed my mind. I won't tell Chapel to cancel appointments. I'll bring you with me. You can play the intern." Leonard looks smug. "If memory serves, old man Harris is next and he'll be needing a prostate exam."

Horrified is not an accurate description for Jim's expression. Fairly certain Bones isn't joking about the 'intern' threat, Jim decides to be a wise boyfriend—he talks. "Khan wants to make a deal."

The sudden thundercloud darkening McCoy's face is not a surprise. "That son of a bitch has been messing with you again?" Leonard almost demands.

Jim reaches out and squeezes Leonard's shoulders to remind him not to yell. "We talked. Nothing else, I swear." Now would be a bad time to mention Frank, Jim thinks.

Leonard, no less unhappy, leans into Jim. "What's the bastard playing at now?"

Jim quietly confesses what it is Khan wants him to do. He is prepared for Bones to rage about it; he is prepared to prevent McCoy from storming out to hunt Khan down. He doesn't expect heavy silence. Concerned, Jim questions, "Bones?"

At last Leonard speaks. "It's an asshole tactic, Jim, but..."

Stunned, Jim pulls back. "You—you think I should do it?"

"No," the doctor answers immediately. Then, turning away to rake a hand through his hair, he adds, "I don't _want _you do it, Jim, but I see how it might help things."

"Help? _Help?_" Jim cries incredulously. He abandons sitting in the chair in order to stand at eye-level with Bones. "The only thing it will do is free Khan from suspicion so he can take _my _town!"

"Jim—"

He voices his worst fear. "I'll be handing over my friends and family to him on a silver platter, Bones. HOW DOES THAT HELP ANYBODY?" A part of him whispers anxiously of doubts, wondering why Bones won't look at him.

"Jim, calm down. I need to say something."

"Am I going to like what I hear?" he snaps, then instantly regrets it.

"No, you won't," McCoy tells him, finally turning so they face each other.

Sudden terror has Jim reining in his temper.

"Jim," begins his boyfriend, "promise to hear me out. No throwing punches until I'm done explaining, okay?"

The joke falls flat. Jim's anxiety ratchets up another notch. He nods his assent, throat too dry for words.

Leonard's sigh is grim. "Jim, about my job..."

The hedging... Jim simply can't stand it. He plunges ahead of McCoy, unaware of how hoarse he sounds. "You're going to work for Khan, aren't you?"

Leonard's face pales, as though hearing the words from Jim's mouth makes them too real. "Yes." Quickly, "Jim, how did you—?"

Jim mimics folding his arms out of a need for comfort. "Keep going," Jim urges, thinking that if he doesn't hear the rest of the explanation, the reasoning behind this mad idea, he... well, he cannot fathom what might happen to him—to him and Bones—but he knows it will be devastating for them both.

"I'm going to bring him down," Bones says in a rush of words, "from the inside. There's simply no way to fight Khan as we are now, not that I can see; we're at a severe disadvantage. I don't want to watch him ruin lives, knowing I have no power to stop him. Even if I have to play his best goddamn friend in order to get dirt on him, I'll do it, Jim. ...Even i-if you and I have to pretend to hate each other..." He falters, swallowing hard. "Please say you understand."

Jim does understand, too easily. Bones is in a position to infiltrate Eugenics in a way Jim isn't and can never be because of his public enmity with Khan Noonien Singh. But the very idea of using Leonard that way, of asking him to play such a foul, traitorous game and live every day in danger of discovery, makes Jim sick to his stomach.

"Have you signed a contract yet?"

"Tomorrow," Bones whispers, sagging slightly.

Jim holds onto Leonard's shoulders, not sure if he is supporting Leonard or himself. "Don't do it, Bones."

"What else _can _we do?"

"I don't know," he answers, quietly panicking beneath the calm of his words. "But stall the paperwork until I can think of something." _If you sign yourself over to Khan, how can I save you then?_

Leonard merely shakes his head, a gesture that, to Jim, is worryingly too vague to be either a confirmation or a denial.

* * *

><p>Jim is restless all night until an idea, quite horrific in its simple, cruel nature, presents itself; thereafter he spends an hour in the bathroom fighting nausea and wetting his face with cold water. Yet the idea refuses to go away, and the person known as James Kirk becomes a progressively more desperate man as time slips past on his alarm clock and the night wanes. He dresses quietly in his bedroom and, more quietly, sneaks out of the apartment he shares with Bones just an hour after dawn.<p>

Khan plans to take Bones away. A true enemy would want to pay Mr. Singh in kind. There is only one person Jim can think of that Khan might hate to lose.

* * *

><p>Jim knows Gaila's habits as well as she knows his. On early mornings, she likes to run through the park by her housing complex. When they were seeing each other, Jim would join her for some of those morning runs, and vice versa if she stayed at his place. Even now, as friends, they maintain a somewhat regular routine as running partners. Or they did up until Khan's appearance, that is.<p>

Jim wonders if Khan is her running partner now. The thought strikes him hard, and he almost bypasses the entrance to the park. As badly as he needs to see his friend, he doesn't want to discover that Khan has so thoroughly replaced him in her life.

_If you happen to see Gaila at all, _Jim reminds himself with a shake. There is no guarantee she continues to come here. It's not as though Jim would know how she entertains herself these days.

Bitter, he pulls up the hood of his runner's jacket and starts out with a slow walk along the trail carved into the park's trimmed grass. The sun has fully crested the horizon by the time he reaches the dead end of the trail. Gaila is obviously not here. With a sinking heart, Jim turns around and begins the trek back to his motorcycle, unwilling to admit how disappointed he is. Only a jackass would be so eager to ruin his ex-girlfriend's life. Jim has neither wanted to be that kind of person nor imagined he would find himself forced into the role.

Distracted by these thoughts, it takes Kirk a moment too long to realize he is being followed. He stops walking and, almost as quickly, the footsteps behind him halt as well. He turns around, freeing his hands to fight, and expects to find someone like Rand haunting his steps.

It isn't one of Khan's thugs, however, who greets him.

"Spock! What are you doing here?"

From beneath the brim of a black bowler hat, dark eyes consider him. "Might I ask you the same question, Jim?"

Pulling off his hood, Jim blinks at Spock in the morning light. "I'm exercising." Any other explanation might sound like he's looking for trouble. Upon observing Spock's polished footwear, Jim adds, "But I take it that's not why you're out."

Spock tucks his hands securely in a knee-length, wool overcoat and moves to stand abreast of Jim. "I find it most interesting you chose this location for your morning jog. Have you tired of your regular route?"

Jim recognizes fishing when he hears it, especially coming from Spock, who can sound politely inquiring while grilling a witness at court. He tries not to appear too defensive when he asks, "Why are you following me?"

"Breakfast," is Spock's smooth reply.

Jim opens his mouth and winds up closing it when he can think of nothing to say. He scratches at an imaginary itch behind one ear. The minute lift of the corner of Spock's mouth is a sign of amusement. Spock begins to walk along the trail again and Jim has no choice but to follow him.

"Breakfast," Spock explains, "was my intended surprise for you and Leonard this morning. It was coincidental of course when I happened to arrive at your residence as you were leaving it."

"So you followed me," Jim finishes, matching Spock's long strides.

"Precisely."

He supposes this should perturb him but Jim is more curious than anything. "Why?"

Spock comes to a standstill and turns to look at him. "Jim, is not your affection for me equal to the affection you harbor for Leonard, or have I been remiss in this assumption over recent months?"

The question is completely out of the blue. "What? You can't be serious!"

"I assure you I am. Now please answer my question."

"Spock, I—" Jim swallows. "You know I'd never love you less than Bones, or more than him for that matter. Why do you need to ask?"

"I had wondered," Spock says slowly, "if that is the reason you do not speak to me as freely as you do with him."

Jim grimaces. "I'm not going to bother you with my stupid problems, Spock. I know you're hurting over what happened with the firm and T'Pau. You don't talk about it but Bones and I—we know. And I'm really, really sorry," he ends miserably, an old guilt rising anew.

The fist bunching the front of his jacket is a shock; when he is dragged into Spock's personal space until they are nose-to-nose, Jim finds himself gaping at Spock's uncharacteristic physical response.

"If you apologize to me again," the lawyer begins, and he doesn't sound very happy at all, "I may hit you."

Jim's eyes are wide. He answers rather breathlessly, "Hitting your boyfriend is domestic abuse."

"Nevertheless, I will act as I see fit. I am not in Riverside because I am destitute, Jim. I am here because you are here and because Leonard is here. If that explanation does not suffice to convince you of my choice, then what is the use of words?"

Jim pinwheels his arms a little. "Spock, you should to put me down now. People are staring."

"Is that a problem?"

"Yeah, 'cause you look like a gangster! A really scary gangster."

Spock lets go of Jim to adjust the angle of his hat. "This weather calls for extra attire."

Jim coughs into his hand to hide his laughter. "Spock, baby, not everybody has your exquisite taste in clothes."

Those hawkish eyes pin Jim like a butterfly to a piece of parchment. Spock warns him austerely, "I have practiced judo since the age of six. You do not know what I am capable of."

Jim grabs Spock's hand, threading their fingers together, and grins. "Judo is sexy. Can I have private lessons?"

"Jim," Spock says, echoing Jim's words in a dry tone, "people are staring."

"Let them," he says, and tugs Spock onto the trail again. "We should go home and make breakfast for Bones."

Spock follows him to the parking lot, not saying a word until they come abreast of Jim's Harley. Then he asks the question Jim knows Spock wanted to ask all along: "Why did you come here, Jim?"

He figures the truth, though painful, is better than a lie at this point. "I wanted to find Gaila." Spock says nothing but his quiet demeanor is simply a sign of waiting for the rest of the explanation. Jim's answer is simultaneously a sigh and "She's the only weapon we have left."

"Friends should not be weapons," Spock says quickly, no doubt alarmed at Jim's wording.

"I know," he murmurs as he forces his helmet onto his head and buckles its strap beneath his chin. "Trust me, I hate the thought too. But who would you rather it be, Spock—Bones or Gaila?" He doesn't want to hear the reply so he revs his Harley's engine to drown it out. "See you at the apartment," he shouts over the noise and backs out of the lot, no longer able to look his boyfriend in the eyes.

* * *

><p>The apartment is quiet for 8 am. Bones isn't the happiest of early-morning risers but he rarely oversleeps. Frowning, Jim drops his helmet onto the couch and heads for McCoy's bedroom. He gives a token tap on the door before poking his head inside. "Bones?"<p>

The room is empty, the bed unmade and a pair of Leonard's scrubs discarded over the back of a chair. Leonard isn't in the bathroom and Jim would have seen him in the kitchen. Spock comes through the front door in time to meet Jim in the living room, staring blankly at a note on the coffee table.

"Bones is gone," he says, hating the way his voice cracks.

Spock touches his elbow lightly. "What is it?" Lifting the note from the table, Spock reads it, undoubtedly wondering why it says _I'm sorry, Jim _and nothing else—and why that breaks Jim's heart. "I do not understand."

"He's gone to Khan," Jim tells Spock flatly. "Damn you, Bones."

"Jim!" Spock calls his name sharply.

Jim ignores him and walks to the kitchen, jerking open the refrigerator door with more force than necessary. Maybe if he stares into the refrigerator long enough he can blame the tears in his eyes on its bright lighting. "Breakfast," he states, choking on a surprising lump in his throat. "I'll have eggs with a side of _fuck my life_. What'll yours be, Spock?"

"I suspect," is the reply near to hand, whereupon Spock gently maneuvers Jim to the side and closes the refrigerator door, "I will have no breakfast until you explain why Leonard is with Khan."

The words tumble out, giving voice to the worst truth Jim has ever known. "We're losing. We're losing _everything_, Spock, and I can't see a way out except one: I have to give Khan what he wants."


	8. Part Seven

**Part Seven**

The place smells sharply of strong liquor and stale smoke. Jim Kirk doesn't acknowledge the waitress who replaces his empty bottle of beer with a full, cold bottle beginning to sweat from the room's temperature. He pops its cap when she is gone but doesn't drink, instead running his thumb along the edge of the slick label.

The other occupants of the bar have long since recognized his desire to be alone. Their voices are low murmurs in his ears, conversations he cares neither to hear nor join; nothing distracts him from his silent reverie.

As the hour closes in on midnight, the customers dwindle down to Jim and a half-asleep drunk at a booth in a dark corner. The waitress has already indicated to Jim he should pack up his brooding and move on. Just as Kirk is ready to leave, a familiar shadow falls across his table. He tightens his hold on his beer but doesn't look up.

"How did you find me?" he asks, absently stirring the dust along the rim of a napkin holder with one finger. "You always find me."

"Maybe I just know you, kid," Leonard says as he drops heavily into an empty chair. He shakes his head at the bartender looking in their direction, declining the possibility of a drink before it can be offered. "Winona called. She wants you home. Don't ask me why."

"Why?"

"Why not? At least you can be miserable while she bakes you pie."

"I can't... see her right now," Jim confesses. And when did things become so bad he abhors the thought of seeking comfort from his mother? He tries half-heartedly to filter out the semi-permanent hostility and disappointment from his tone of voice. "Go away, Bones."

"When are you going to forgive me, Jim?"

His response is a hollow echo inside the bar. "I don't know."

"I won't leave you." Leonard's words turn melancholy. "No matter what you may think."

Jim laughs bitterly. "Maybe you should." He pauses to contemplate his next thought and decides to give it the weight of sound. "Take Spock with you too."

"Jim," his boyfriend says, taken aback by the hard suggestion, "you can't mean that."

He stands up, angry, and digs money out of his pocket to toss onto the table. "I really fucking do, Bones. Don't try to follow me this time."

Outside of the bar is Spock waiting in his Corvette. He opens the car door when Jim steps onto the gravel parking lot but the man doesn't get out, clearly uncertain if his intervention is welcome; Kirk pivots sharply in the opposite direction and walks away.

* * *

><p>A day passes. Jim spends as little time in his apartment as possible and never when Bones is home. He forgoes Spock's house altogether.<p>

Often for Jim walking can be more cathartic than riding his motorcycle. Currently, Jim is pacing down a sidewalk, his hands stuffed into his jackets pockets. He doesn't pay attention to what part of town he is in or what part of town he might be leaving. Location doesn't matter because he has no destination, only this frustration which drives him into motion. It's lingered with him for a couple of days now, and he has no idea how to make it go away. Moving makes it bearable.

As he strides past a weather-beaten bench, declared as a bus stop by an equally battered sign, he glances around. The woman standing beside the bench is smoking with her eyes fixed across the street and her foot tapping impatiently on the concrete. She is a familiar face but not someone Jim wants to chat with. He moves on, pretending not to have seen her.

"It feels shitty, doesn't it?" the woman calls at his retreating back as she finishes her cigarette and flicks the butt to the ground, grinding it beneath her boot heel.

Jim halts mid-stride, caught by her question.

Marlena Moreau clarifies, "It's shitty having no options."

He turns around and stares pointedly at the suitcase resting against her legs. "It doesn't seem like you're out of options."

He receives a sour look in return. "I don't like the way things are here, or the way they're going to be. So why stay?" she asks.

Jim turns away, certain he shouldn't acknowledge that question, but Marlena calls him back before he manages three steps.

"You can come with me, Jim."

That surprises him, and for a brief instant he imagines stepping onto a bus and never looking back. Jim shakes off the daydream. "You hate me," he states. "Why do you care?"

There's something in her eyes, something he can't quite decipher. "I don't care," she admits, "but I thought somebody should remind you you can walk away. I don't think your _friends _would tell you that."

"Thanks," Jim says after a moment of silence passes, "but no thanks. Things aren't so simple for me." As an afterthought, hearing the roar of an approaching Greyhound, he advises, "Make a better life for yourself, Marlena. It's the only one you've got."

He doesn't know what her laughter means but he doesn't wait around to find out, either.

* * *

><p>The note on the refrigerator reads: <em>I know you're pissed at me but Spock didn't do anything.<em>

Jim crumples the paper in a fist and throws it away. After a quick and nasty debate with himself, he picks up the phone and calls Spock.

That the man answers on the first ring is alarmingly telling of his worry. "Jim."

"Hey," he says into the receiver. An apology blossoms on the tip of his tongue but he swallows it down. "How are you?"

"I miss you."

That's not fair. He shifts on his feet, uncomfortable. McCoy must have told Spock what to say to crack his defenses.

"Oh." Then, "I'm fine" even though Spock hadn't asked.

Seconds pass. "…You have no intention of returning." Spock's voice is too flat in quality, too much like his lawyer-at-trial voice.

"I—" Jim grimaces. "I never said that."

"You have said nothing of value, which limits my interpretation." There is a pause. "Should I make arrangements to have your personal belongings returned to you?"

He isn't aware of how hard his fingers clutch the phone. "Spock, we're not breaking up."

"Not at this juncture, no. We agreed it would be a mutual decision if a decision became necessary. Regardless of how you may feel at present, I will _not _decide on the fate of our relationship until you are prepared to discuss the matter in person. You owe both Leonard and I that much, Jim."

"Spock," he breathes, not liking the sudden shakiness of his voice.

"If you contact me again, I expect either an apology or a date and time to meet."

Spock hangs up. Jim stares wonderingly at the phone, not really hearing the dial tone. He finds himself in another position he never imagined possible. With a gentleness indicative of his shock, he hangs up too.

He doesn't call Spock back.

* * *

><p>Bulldozers are breaking ground where a store used to be. Jim can hear it from Jose's auto shop. By the time lunch comes, the noise of construction is a terrible throbbing in his ears. He un-grits his teeth and tells Jose when he returns from lunch, it will be with earplugs for them both.<p>

Jim doesn't go shopping for those ear plugs. Instead he slips into the back of the diner and finds Pavel Chekov checking food inventory in the store room. "Hey," he says, "how's it going, Pavel?"

"Jim!" The young man brightens upon sighting him. "It is good to see you!"

The smile on Kirk's face isn't nearly so forced as it has been in days past. He eyes the neatly arranged supplies on the shelves and labeled boxes along the room's wall. "I think you like being a kitchen boy too much," he jokes. "How did you manage to clean this area up?"

"_Da_," Chekov agrees cheerfully, "it was wery unorganized. Sasha helped." Pavel shoots a blatantly curious look in Jim's direction. "You have not come to visit for days. You are... hiding?"

_From what I have to do? Yes. _ "I... yeah, I guess so." He scratches the back of his head and gives Pavel a pleading look. "Don't tell Mom I'm here."

Pavel hesitates before asking, "Can I tell Hikaru?"

"Only if you think he'll make me lunch _without _telling Uhura or giving me away to Mom." Jim's stomach rumbles plaintively; he pats it. "Aww, she really misses Sulu's food."

Pavel looks at Jim's stomach with an expression which most likely means _Why are you personifying one of your organs? Americans are strange. _He hands Jim the inventory list and shows him where to start from. Jim assures his friend that he can count. In return, Pavel goes to the kitchen to wheedle a chicken salad sandwich and fries out of Sulu for the stowaway Kirk.

When the door to the store room opens again, Jim says, "Hey, Pavel, do tomatoes go under fruits or vegetables?"

"What are you doing?"

Jim turns around to find Sulu depositing a plate of food on the corner of a table. Sulu repeats, "What are you doing, Jim?"

Jim snags a fry from the plate and pops it into his mouth while waving Chekov's clipboard at the cook. "Inventory. So, tomatoes...?"

"I meant," Sulu overrides him, "why are you acting like an asshole to your mother?"

Jim makes a rude noise and discards the clipboard on a shelf. "It's not your business, Sulu."

"When _your _family issues affect my job, it becomes my business," the man counters in an implacable voice. "Tell me, or I'll drop your sandwich on the floor." He reaches out and tilts the plate at a precarious angle with one finger.

Jim freezes. "Not the chicken salad, man—it doesn't deserve that!"

"I made it with a dab of cream cheese. No celery. No crust," Sulu tacks on.

Jim's stomach whimpers. Oh fuck, cream cheese. No celery or crust. He _needs _that. "Don't kill my sandwich! What do you want?"

"Why are you avoiding Winona?"

"Pike," he blurts out, because now that Jim thinks about it the real truth could hurt Sulu.

"I don't believe you," the cook growls. The sandwich slides downwards with the aid of gravity to the rim of the plate; a few fries fall onto the floor.

"Sulu," Jim says, strangling over indecision, "I don't think I should be the one to tell you." _Not about the restaurant. _Would his mother have said anything yet? Jim doesn't think so.

Sulu lets the plate drop back to the table. "I can handle whatever it is, Jim, but I don't think you can—or _are _handling it well. If you talk to me, maybe I can give you another perspective on the problem."

"I doubt that," he mutters. At last Jim sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Mom is considering selling the Enterprise to Khan, courtesy of one double-crossing Christopher Pike."

"Is that so?" Sulu doesn't sound shocked or even worried.

Jim frowns. "Why are you cool with this?"

"If I believed it, I wouldn't be." Sulu offers one half of the chicken salad sandwich to Jim.

He takes it reluctantly, still mulling over Sulu's confidence. "How can you not believe it?"

"Because your mother asked me if I wanted to become part-owner of the diner."

Jim rocks back on his heels. "_What?_"

"I may or may not agree to it," Sulu continues. "If Khan ends up shutting us down, it would be a short-lived and profitless venture. I don't like instability or risk in my investments."

"Mom wouldn't propose the idea if she thought it would be a bust," Jim realizes. He takes a bite of the sandwich and chews it slowly while he re-evaluates an assumption he had accepted days ago as fact. "What's she thinking?"

"I don't know," Sulu says, "but I can tell you she isn't going to turn the keys over to Khan. I don't know why you think she would."

The sandwich, as good as it tastes, sits like lead in his stomach. "I told you—because of Pike."

Sulu nudges the plate towards Kirk, a silent invitation to finish the food, and pulls open the door to the store room. "Pike left," he reveals without ceremony, and leaves Jim to consider another startling bit of news.

Later, over the vibrating noise of a pressured air pump Jim and Jose need to work on a Crown Victoria, he tells his boss and friend, "I think I screwed up, man."

Jose flips the off-switch on the pump. "Screwing up makes you human. Have you apologized to your mother yet?"

Jim looks up from where he is kneeling beside a tire. "How did you know I meant my mom?"

"I told you a couple of days ago—she's called looking for you. It sounded important."

"I didn't want to hear it," Jim admits. "I was angry."

A moment of silence stretches. Then Jose says quietly, heavily, "We're all angry, Jim. Victims have a right to be angry. But because we are the victims—you, me, and Winona and almost everybody in this town—we can't afford to take that anger out on each other. It compromises us."

"We have to focus our anger on Khan," Jim surmises. "How do we do that?"

"How does anybody win a war?"

Jim rotates the wrench in his hand, over and over again. "Exploiting their enemy's weakness. Khan doesn't have a weakness." Hadn't the man said as much? Jim has thought hard over this many times before now and found himself agreeing with the assessment. Jim sincerely believes Khan would not care what he tried to do to him; how could such a self-assured man, the kind who lacks a heart, know anything about fear?

Jose pulls a rag out of a back pocket and wipes at the black grease under his fingernails. "Maybe Eugenics has a weakness."

Jim snorts as he remembers what Pike said to him once about Khan's terrorist connections. "If it's a cover to serve dirt bag dictators and militaristic regimes, I would bet it was built on dirty money."

"Which isn't a crime we have the power to address." Jose tosses the rag on the garage floor in an uncharacteristic display of temper. "_Damn_."

But for Jim the world tilts on its axis. His nerveless fingers let go of the wrench. It clatters to the ground next to Jose's rag. "Say that again!"

"That we aren't the feds?" his boss asks, bemused by Jim's wide-eyed expression.

"Shit, _yes!_" Jim almost stumbles over a loose tire in his haste to get to his locker and his change of clothes.

"Kirk, it's not closing time! Where the hell are you going?"

"Komack!" he shouts. "Gotta find the sheriff!"

* * *

><p>Komack thinks Jim is crazy. "I don't put civilians in danger."<p>

"We're already in danger," Jim retorts. He leans over the Sheriff's desk and unrelentingly pushes into Komack's personal space. "We catch these assholes, we catch Khan."

"There's no guarantee we can trace them back to Singh. I told you it was a theory."

Jim beats the top of Komack's desk with his fist. Komack grabs a stack of folders before they slide to the floor and matches Jim's glare.

"If Khan hired them or found someone to hire them," Jim insists, "there _has _to be connection leading back to him. Better yet, if he knows we have the men in custody, he will have to do something to ensure no one talks."

Komack waves Jim back with one hand. "Get out of my face, Kirk. I'll think about it." His sharp eyes bore into the younger man. "However I would bet my badge you haven't discussed this—_insane_—plan of yours with anybody else. Get those who need to know, who would be party to it, on board first and then we can talk."

Jim nods. "I will. You can count on it."

Komack's sigh stops Jim at the door to his office. "You know this may go badly, don't you? Last time, Trelane set fire to the diner and you almost died. What do you think Khan will do to it, if you invite his men inside?"

"They won't have a chance to hurt the Enterprise—or my family," Jim replies, "because I'll be ready and waiting when they show up."

A stifled noise. Then the Sheriff grunts, "You scare me, boy."

Jim tilts his head, curious. "Why?"

"Because I think God forgot to give you a sense of self-preservation."

To Jim, that's entirely too funny to be true. He laughs and heads out of the police station to find his mother.


	9. Part Eight

**Part Eight**

"Are you out of your mind, Jim?"

"I can handle it," Jim replies almost too calmly.

"Right," Leonard snarls, "because facing killers with guns is _so _much smarter than my plan."

"Your plan isn't going to work, Bones." The tension in Jim is evident in the set of his shoulders; yet otherwise he seems relatively at ease. "You would only come as close to discovering Khan's secrets as he would let you. The man trusts no one." More quietly, he adds, "Do you really want to live your life under Khan's thumb, hoping some day you will have sacrificed enough that you can be free of him?"

"I know what it's going to cost me, Jim—_I know. _Don't think I decided to do this with reckless abandon." A muscle in McCoy's jaw ticks as his ire returns. "Which is exactly what you're doin'! Spock," he says, turning to the silent man seated upon the couch, "you can't possibly think Jim's crazy idea will work!"

There is a moment of silence in which Spock looks from Jim to Leonard and back again. He isn't frowning but his stillness indicates a deep disquiet. "I will admit I am troubled," Spock says slowly. "Jim, I need not remind you of the risks of confronting two armed men—"

Jim nods slightly.

"—and, Leonard, you have placed yourself in an untenable position I can neither condone nor, given your motivation, ridicule."

Temper flares in Leonard's eyes. "Why do you have to be so damned _lawyer-ish _about this, Spock?" He makes a noise of frustration. "Jim's just said he is going to get himself shot full of holes! My God, man, do you care so little about him?"

"_Bones_," Jim interrupts sharply, "stop it."

Jim didn't think it was possible for Spock's eyes to become any darker, but they suddenly are.

When the lawyer speaks, his voice is well beyond arctic. "Consider _your_ actions, Doctor. You accuse me of a lack of caring when you are the one who blatantly disregarded how Jim and I might feel with respect to your notion of playing at an undercover investigation. I had no inkling of your decision because _you did not choose to tell me_; indeed you used me to facilitate your ambition quite duplicitously. Had I known, I would not have readily agreed to aid you, a fact of which I am certain you are well-aware. Do not presume to project your callous behavior on my person, Leonard. I am not like you."

Spock stands and addresses Jim without looking at him. "If you will excuse me, I need time to consider your plan before I approve or disapprove of it." He disappears into the hallway, undoubtedly heading for his study, where anybody would be a fool to follow.

Jim isn't the one Spock verbally flayed but even so he feels exposed. Lifting a not-quite-shaking hand, he rubs at his mouth and is unable to look at McCoy. As much as he instinctively aches to soothe the bite of the lashing, he agrees with Spock. Jim doesn't believe Bones would have warned him of his intentions had Jim not have shown up at the clinic under emotional duress. And what this says about the current state of Jim's faith in Leonard does not bear thinking about.

He rises from his chair with the murmur "I'm meeting Mom at the diner."

Leonard doesn't request to come along, and Jim doesn't ask him to.

Upon stepping out of Spock's house, Jim shivers. The warm temperature cannot touch the cold fear taking root in him or his guilt. He hadn't meant to drive a wedge between his lovers and, though a small part of his conscience says he isn't entirely to blame, Jim wishes abruptly and fiercely he had recognized the moment his relationship with Bones and Spock began to crumble.

What does the future hold for them? More of the same hurt?

He doesn't know how to fix it, not at all… except by going after Khan.

* * *

><p>"Jimmy, I don't like this," his mother remarks not for the first time, though she is considerably less apprehensive than when Jim initially explained his idea yesterday (on the heels, of course, of a woeful-eyed apology for ignoring her, after which Winona threatened to move in with him if he ever ignored her again). When he came to the part about how he plans to apprehend Khan's thugs single-handedly (he wasn't stupid enough to say <em>that <em>last bit out loud), Jim is now more than thankful Pike had not been at the farmhouse to watch her try to beat his head in with a spatula and then, quite inexplicably, sit down at the kitchen table and declare "Oh why do I bother? Okay, Jim."

Of course, Jim is thankful for many reasons that Christopher Pike isn't staying at his mother's house any longer. Which doesn't preclude him from wondering where the man went... or what he might be up to next. Winona wouldn't talk about Pike, and Jim didn't push her for details. Pike is someone he intends to handle without the danger of Winona being caught in the middle.

The elder Kirk abandons her task at the diner's register to look at her son.

Jim takes this as his cue to slip an arm around his mother's shoulders and give her a comforting squeeze of a hug. "It'll be as easy as one-two-three, Mom. Promise."

Her mouth quirks. "I seem to remember you telling me that when you wanted a motorcycle license."

He beams. "Which is awesome, because I'm awesome and motorcycles are awesome!" Somehow that explanation made more sense in his head...

Her eyes roll heavenward. "Sweetie, you fell off your first bike at least ten times before you learned to lean into a curve."

"But I wore padding!" he argues. _Too much of it_, Jim seems to remember. He might as well have been wearing a tire, for all the rubber-ball bouncing he did around the road. (Though he may have been saved a concussion or three, now that he thinks about it.)

"Because I made you," Winona clarifies, breaking into his meandering train of thought. Then she studies him, her expression softening. "Are you sure, Jimmy? And Sheriff Komack will have his men nearby? You know you matter more to me than any collateral damage to the Enterprise."

"Oh, I have something better than cops," Jim tells her with a toothy grin. He points at the kitchen. "I have Sulu."

Winona fixes her worried eyes on the kitchen. "Maybe I should buy him a larger chef's knife?"

As if on cue (or perhaps because Sulu is eavesdropping on their conversation) the cook appears in the kitchen window and lays an object along the window counter. One of Sulu's hands strokes it lovingly as he says, "This is better than any kitchen knife, Winona."

Jim's nervous laugh isn't at all feigned. "Uh, Sulu, man, that's not a _knife_."

"No," agrees the cook, "it's my sword." He stares solemnly at the Kirks. "And I'm good with it."

Winona nods decisively and moves away from Jim, patting his arm as she goes and pulling out a small yellow can from her waitress' apron to wave in the air. "Where should I hide the pepper spray?"

Jim blinks. "I thought you already stashed mace under the counter."

"No, love, that's your granddaddy's pistol. The mace is in the supply closet, along with one of the spare keys and a lock-pick set in case they put you in there." She points behind a booth. "Back there is the baseball bat, and I put a crowbar—"

"Wait, wait, wait," Jim cries. "Mom, you can't booby-trap the Enterprise!"

"I haven't," the woman explains patiently. "I put _weapons_ in not-so-obvious places. I expect you know where they are, young man, _and _I expect you to defend yourself with them if necessary." She pauses. "Unless, of course, you reconsider letting me be a part of the ploy." Her thin smile cannot be classified as anything other than ruthless. "I have no qualms about shooting a man threatening me and mine."

Disturbed by the combination of the hard blue glint to his mother's eyes and the fact that Sulu is polishing his katana with a hopeful, slightly psychotic expression, Jim slowly sidles toward the exit. "That's just—great, Mom. Creepy but great. Why don't you draw me a map of the... arsenal, and I'll come by the farm later to get it?"

"And you'll memorize it, too!" she calls after him.

Alone in the parking lot, James Kirk takes a long minute to breathe and wonder exactly when his family became so frightening.

* * *

><p>Spock's house is eerily quiet when he returns. Jim checks a particular cabinet in the kitchen and isn't surprised to find a bottle of Jack missing. Because he doesn't want to deal with a drunken Bones, he goes in search of Spock instead.<p>

The man is ensconced in his study but not mulling over papers or reading a legal brief. Jim pauses on the threshold, observing Spock's profile against the backdrop of a window. One of its curtains is drawn aside, shedding a few shadows of the day's dying light here and there, and Spock, with a contemplative furrow to his brow, seems fixated on some spot far beyond what Jim can readily see. Rain, which had begun to fall only seconds after Jim pulled into the neighborhood, is now drumming a steady beat against the panes of glass.

The grey weather fits their collective mood, he decides.

"Jim."

The sound of his name, spoken softly, breaks the oppressive silence blanketing them. Jim leans against the doorjamb and crosses his arms. "Hey, Spock," he greets, equally quiet.

A heartbeat passes. Another.

"You have spoken with your mother." It isn't a question.

Jim answers anyway. "Yes. She—" He grimaces ruefully. "—is turning the diner into Fort Knox. I think. Or maybe the NYSE. I hear you have to go through four or five levels of security clearance to get inside the Stock Exchange."

"Six," Spock corrects, "including the FBI background check and the handprint identification scan." He turns his head to look at Jim. "Do you believe you will be successful?"

"I believe I have to try." Jim straightens his posture inside the doorway but hesitates upon entering. He asks, somewhat shy, "Can I come in?"

Something like surprise flashes through Spock's eyes. "You do not have to ask."

Aware that he has Spock's undivided attention, he lets his gaze flit around the room. "I do have to ask," Jim begins, searching for the easiest way to explain. "This is—your place. A private place." He cannot help but smile a little. "It's your office, Spock, and even a backwoods farm-boy like me knows it's only proper to make an appointment to visit another man's office, especially when that man is a lawyer."

Jim doesn't mind the way Spock is scrutinizing him. Carefully, cautiously, he steps into the study and seats himself across the wide executive desk from Spock. A curious man by nature, Jim notes the neat stacks of ledgers to one side and that Spock's desk rolodex is flipped open to the letter M. He shoves his hands under his thighs so he won't be tempted to touch things and finally looks at Spock.

His boyfriend is doing that eye-caress thing which always leaves Jim a little breathless and a lot horny. He tells his libido to stop ruining the serious mood, and dives into the matter of business which needs to be discussed between them with the blunt question: "Do I have your support?"

"You always have my support" is Spock's instant reply. "I hesitate to consider what might happen otherwise."

Jim likes to think he knows Spock very well by now. "And what are your conditions?"

Spock lifts one of his eyebrows. "Astute of you," he compliments. After a pause, "I want to be party to the event."

Jim's first inclination is to leap to his feet and shout NO! Reigning in that response is difficult but he manages to do it. Instead he hedges, "Sulu will be covering the back area."

"While I have faith in Mr. Sulu's skills of defense—"

Wait, what? How does Spock know about Sulu's skills? ...And what _are _Sulu's skills, besides scaring the pants off of Jim with a deadly-looking Japanese sword?

"—there is no substitute for first-hand knowledge that you are among capable company."

Jim bites down hard on his lip; it doesn't stop the traitorous words from escaping, however. "Is this your way of showing off the ninja skills you've been cultivating since the age of six? Because, Spock—I promise I believe you."

"Do not mock me," his boyfriend warns lightly.

Jim grins. "Never, my beloved."

In the blink of an eye, Spock grabs Jim by his jacket lapels and hauls him bodily across the desk. Jim's surprised squawk of protest is muffled by Spock's mouth, whereupon Jim instantly changes his mind and decides he really shouldn't be complaining anyway.

Once Jim is fittingly putty-like in Spock's hands, Spock pulls back. "You will tell Komack I am part of the team."

Jim slurs something like "Huh, what? Yeah 'kay, mmm, anything you say, Spock..."

Finally coming back to his senses, Jim discovers he is pretty much lounging on top of Spock's desk, with crumpled important-looking documents under his ass; his position only accentuates exactly how turned on he is.

Jim blinks innocently at Spock. "Have you ever had sex on a desk, Spock?"

Long fingers stroke the side of his face. "Perhaps I should remind you this is my place of business, Jim."

"Which is the precise locale of a very dirty fantasy I am indulging in right now."

Amused, Spock releases Jim with a last brush of his fingertips against skin and leans back in his chair. "How interesting. I require more detail."

How could anybody ever think of Spock as a prude? And what, exactly, had Jim been worried about before he came in here and was kissed senseless? He certainly can't remember.

"Well," he starts, propping up on an elbow and idly rolling his hip to remove a piece of paper plastered to his thigh, "there's a bit more physical contact and a lot less clothes," _and no letter opener poking my ass_, "and you're doing this thing where—" Jim's eye catches a word on a line of the paper he is preparing to let float away. "—Khan—?"

"Khan?" Spock echoes, his eyebrows flying up. "I doubt Mr. Singh should factor into your sexual fantasies, Jim."

"Never mind that!" Jim says, sitting up. He shoves the paper under Spock's nose. "What is this?"

"Ah," murmurs the lawyer. "That is a confidential report."

"No shit! Why do you have a copy of a tax return of his corporate estates in..." He squints at a name. "…Dubai?"

Spock reaches out and unearths a manila folder from a stack of ledgers beside Jim's left leg. "Research."

Jim forgets about everything else and skims through the folder. Eventually he stops muttering words to himself and turns back to Spock to express a combination of appreciation and _holy shit, this has to be so illegal. _"Where did you get all of this?"

Watching Spock steeple his fingers triggers an unnerving memory. Groaning, Jim answers for Spock.

"Oh god, you called Sarek."

"If you wish to be technical, I called my mother." Spock plucks a white card from his rolodex with the word MOTHER written in capital letters across it and shows it to Jim. "I was... forced to explain the situation in Riverside, and it is inevitable she would share this information with my father." Spock hesitates before adding, "I had thought it proper to inform Mother of my leave-taking from Cochrane."

"You mean before she caught wind of it from someone else," Jim guesses. Like T'Pau, he doesn't add.

"Yes," Spock admits. "Otherwise Mother might deem another visit to America necessary in order to determine the state of my affairs. She does not do well with surprises."

Jim's bark of laughter may or may not be edged with hysteria. "Let's not go there, Spock. I like your mom but..." _Your father makes me feel like a bug under a microscope—and I still haven't figured out what happened to Trelane_. He eliminates that thought before it can take root and multiply.

"Precisely."

Jim runs his thumb along the edge of the folder. "Is there anything noteworthy in here?"

"Plenty," Spock replies, "but I have not yet determined if any of the information will be useful in a case against Khan. One must also consider that my source would not be admissible in a court of law."

With a somewhat grim sigh, Jim tosses the folder aside. "Forget Khan. I don't want to think about him tonight." He focuses on Spock. "I want dinner, and then I plan to take you to bed."

"Jim," Spock says softly.

"I know," he confesses. "Bones." Jim rakes his fingers through his short hair and hates the misery threatening to ruin what little happiness he can find. "You're pissed at him and I'm... I don't know what I am anymore."

Spock stands and tugs Jim from his desk. "He loves you."

"And he loves you," Jim responds without thinking. He sighs again. "…We'll forgive him?"

"Was there another option?" Spock muses as he first places a light kiss against Jim's jaw then moves away towards the open door.

Of course there was, Jim thinks. But Spock's words simply show that neither of them is ready to consider an option that does not involve forgiveness.

* * *

><p><strong>This is an interlude, mainly because we need to be fortified for the bad things to come. D:<strong>


	10. Part Nine

**I could never figure out how, in TOS, Captain Kirk always managed to survive the multitude of entities out to get him. Klingons wanted to battle with him to the death; bored space aliens wanted to make him fight for entertainment; and anybody not-so-good at heart who saw him as a figure of authority decided he might as well be tortured, killed, poisoned, humilated, etc etc. Yet Kirk never gave up and said "This is too much for me."**

**I like to imagine there is a little bit of that Kirk in my Jim.**

**I think by now you know how this chapter will go. I clue you in to some bad shit going down and then back up and make you work to find out what it is. That said, I am sorry. This may be very painful, depending on your tolerance for Jim-whumpage.**

* * *

><p><strong>Part Nine<strong>

_"...were you thinking?"_

A response comes, muted and deep, clearly agitated. Jim stirs to consciousness.

Someone is cradling his head; the next thing he picks out, besides voices talking, is the familiar smell of antiseptic and shaving cream. Then the man somewhere above him hits a pitch he knows all too well, and Jim's stomach clenches.

_"—for God's sake. You didn't have to hit him that hard!"_

_"If I hadn't, he would have gutted me,"_ a second person rumbles, male also. Yet the man doesn't sound defensive, only tired.

There is horrible taste in Jim's mouth—maybe blood. Though his awareness grows clearer with each passing second, he doesn't dare change the rate of his shallow breaths or open his eyes. If they realize he is awake, if he has to look at them—at _him _and acknowledge a truth—his heart would shatter.

The gentle fingers touching Jim's face, drifting through his hair seeking injury, are Bones'. With his eyes closed, Jim can pretend the two of them are at home, in bed or on the couch, and this isn't his worst nightmare. He can pretend Bones never betrayed him and—

No. Don't think about it. Play it safe, Kirk. Be objective. Detached. Isn't that what Spock would do?

_God. Spock._ What happened to Spock? On the heels of that thought is _Sulu_. Jim hopes no one notices the helpless twitch of his left hand.

The other voice, deeper with age, is urging quietly, "We need to move him, McCoy. They're coming for him and nothing short of God will keep them from tearing into us."

Jim recognizes that person, too, and realizes the taste in his mouth isn't blood—it's bitterness.

"I know," Bones agrees. "I—Chris, he isn't going to forgive me for this."

"He'll have to."

_No, I don't, _Jim retorts silently. He remains limp as Bones begins to lift his body, waiting second by agonizing second for an opportune moment to free himself.

* * *

><p><em>Five hours previous...<em>

"Where is the blueberry cheesecake?" demands Uhura as she corrals Jim against the diner's counter.

Jim's gaze automatically skips over to his booth and the blueberry-stained napkin he had forgotten to hide. To the fuming waitress he says, "Not a clue. Did you ask Sulu?"

"Sulu doesn't eat the product," Nyota points out. "And I saw you eyeing the dessert case." Her hand whips out and whaps him upside the head.

"OW!"

"What is _wrong _with you, Jim? Just because you're on a stakeout, or whatever, doesn't mean you can help yourself to our inventory! Wait until I tell Winona..."

He raises his hands to placate her. "I can pay for it, Uhura, honest—"

She lifts a condescending eyebrow. "Will you now? For both the cheesecake and the bacon cheeseburger? Oh and that _tiny taste_ of stew beef you had, by which I mean you ate three bowls, and the bucket of fries you coaxed Sulu into making?" Her voice reaches a shrill "And don't forget the banana-nut muffins! Those were for _tomorrow_, YOU PIG!"

He fumbles for his wallet and opens it with a flutter of nerves to stare at the singular one-dollar bill inside. "Um, tomorrow, I can go to the bank..."

"YOU SAID THAT YESTERDAY!"

"Uhura," he begs when she fists her hands into his jacket, "please don't hurt me! I swear I'll get you the money!"

"I don't believe you!"

"But I SWEAR!"

"Do you know what happens to people who can't pay their bill?"

"No," he squeaks and shakes his head in horror, "please, don't, I—"

She yells over his shoulder, "Sulu! We have a moocher!"

Jim whimpers.

A growl replies from the kitchen, "Send 'im in."

Satisfied, Uhura lets go of Jim's jacket and pats his chest. "Go on, then."

"What did I ever do to you?" he complains, shooting her a sour look of _you are so cruel to me_.

"You eat too much and you stay too late and you annoy me," the woman lists. Removing a pen from her apron, Nyota raps it against his forehead. "And you're too chauvinistic to admit I can kick ass when I have to!"

Jim blinks, suddenly understanding what she isn't telling him. Uhura is still pissed he sends her home soon after the last customer, alongside his mother and Pavel. But Jim doesn't regret that, not at all; he won't put more people in danger than necessary. With a hint of his shit-eating grin, he pivots on the ball of his foot and heads to the kitchen. "I'm certain I heard thunder a while back, Uhura. Take an umbrella with you when you clock out. See ya!"

He resolutely ignores the fierce gaze stabbing his back. Sulu grunts in Jim's direction as Jim enters the kitchen and points a knife at the grease pit. "Clean," Jim is ordered.

Looking at the muck of used oils and congealed fats and unidentifiable goo, he sighs. "Can't I chop something?"

The knife becomes embedded in a wooden cutting board with a hard _thwack_. "I'll chop you," the chef warns, "if you don't have it done by midnight." A pause, then Sulu murmurs thoughtfully, "I am looking for a unique ingredient in the steak pie."

Jim hunches his shoulders and digs around for an extra pair of rubber gloves to protect his hands from cleaning chemicals, because he doesn't fancy being served up on tomorrow's menu. The two men work in companionable silence, with only the hum of the industrial dishwasher for interruption as it runs through its last cycle.

Pavel passes through the kitchen once as he returns from helping Uhura with the usual clean-up chores in the main area of the Enterprise Diner. Jim would rather be out there wiping down the tables and counters or refreshing salt shakers and cleaning the coffee pots. There is this one particular glob of some mysterious burnt substance which refuses to come unstuck from the side of the grease pit. His arms ache from the effort to remove it.

And being back here, scrubbing at it repetitively, gives Jim too much time to think.

The thugs have been a no-show.

Jim is disappointed, which of course makes him crazy in the eyes of everyone else. But he had thought Khan would take the bait, especially after Winona had written such a politely rude refusal of the executive's latest offer for her business. (Jim had never thought 'politely rude' was possible until Spock helped Winona word the letter; somehow that skill only increases Jim's admiration for his lawyer boyfriend.)

Komack had suggested mentioning that she has other investors who are interested in keeping the diner's doors open. In a way, that is true since Winona plans to make Sulu a partner in the business. Jim didn't think Khan would care about names, only care that Winona was turning him down for the umpteenth time and subsequently she wouldn't be inclined to accept his money in the future.

The letter was mailed a week ago, but Khan hasn't sent anyone to terrorize them yet.

Perhaps the late nights are taking their toll on Jim. He hasn't slept more than three or four hours during a night; he comes to the diner after the majority of the dinner crowd departs (which, sadly, is not many people these days) and stays until the place is shut down by Sulu, which doesn't happen until approximately one a.m. after a long laundry list of cleaning duties and food preparation for the next day. Jim hadn't realized until now how much relentless work Sulu does.

Why anyone would want to work nearly 24/7 is beyond him. Pavel says that Sulu would, once and a while, sleep in the store room in his downtime and, when the old diner operated all night and day, sometimes he didn't rest for days at a stretch. Apparently Pavel does not like Sulu's habits and bullies the chef into maintaining regularly hours of rest. The fact that Pavel and his sister still live with Sulu seemingly means Chekov's opinion carries more weight with Sulu than most people's.

Jim isn't certain but he often wonders if Pavel has a minor crush on Sulu. Irregardless, at least someone is helping the poor cook.

At this point in Jim's musings, said cook comes over to inspect Jim's vigorous scrubbing of the grease pit and declares there are three spots which don't shine.

Never mind, Jim thinks fiercely. Sulu isn't a 'poor' anything. The man is evil.

He considers tossing his dirty scrub-brush at his friend's head and, meeting Sulu's eyes, realizes the man is silently daring him to. Then Jim remembers what Sulu has brought to work this past week and dismisses his childish inclination to instigation a tussle. Katanas are scary, he decides as he rinses his brush in the double sink. So returning to polish the pit until it gleams is quite naturally the safer option.

Some time later, Pavel pokes his head into the kitchen. "We're ready!"

Jim drops his brush like it's hot and strips off his gloves as he hurries after the kitchen boy.

In the front of the diner, Uhura's eyes land on him as she adjusts the purse strap on her shoulder. She's already changed into her street clothes. Jim smiles, glad there won't be an argument over if she can stay, but she doesn't smile back.

"What's wrong?" he asks, approaching her but letting his gaze wander over to his mother by the door. Spock has, predictably, already arrived to begin the late night vigil with Jim. (And hadn't it been fun to convince Komack that Spock should be allowed to take part in this danger mission?) The lawyer is talking with Winona in low tones.

Nyota pokes his bicep to regain his attention. "Jim, when are you going to give up?"

He narrows his eyes. "Why should I give up?"

She huffs out an exasperated breath. "Don't look at me like that. You know what I mean! For one, nothing has happened, and you can't watch over us for the next six months."

He opens his mouth to protest that he certainly can but she overrides him.

"Two, I think even Komack is tired of waiting on Khan to strike."

"_Khan _won't give up, Uhura. So tell me—why should I?" The very idea makes him furious.

Nyota Uhura never cares how angry he sounds or spitting mad he looks. She reaches out and pulls him in for a hug. "I'm scared for you," she whispers against his ear.

He relents and returns the hug. "Don't be. I have Spock and Sulu. Three against two, 'n my team's more awesome."

"I know," Nyota says softly as she lets go of him and steps back. "But, Jim, if we have learned anything by now, it's that Khan doesn't play fair." She gives him a searching look then seems resigned. Yet she continues on to ask, "What about Leonard?"

Pain.

He almost cannot manage to control his reaction. She doesn't need to know how bad things are on that score. "I told him to stay home."

The woman _hmphs_. "And he agreed to that?"

_You just don't know, Nyota,_ he thinks silently. Bones _had _agreed to stay out of Jim's business. More than anything, that easy agreement terrifies Kirk to no end. Is Leonard truly going to give up fighting for their future now that Spock has sided against him?

"Jimmy," a new voice carries into his thoughts, "are you certain?"

Each night, Winona Kirk asks him the same thing as she prepares to leave the diner and her son. Jim always replies, "I am."

Tonight is no different. He tells her not to worry, kisses her cheek, and stands with Spock as Uhura, Pavel, and his mother disappear into the kitchen, then ultimately through the back of the Enterprise and home, away from what might turn into a deadly evening.

He verifies that Sulu is ready to finish the nightly routine and then walks Spock to the store room, where the man will settle to stay until the very last minute before Sulu is ready to lock the back door to the kitchen. How Spock entertains himself for those two hours or so, Jim has no idea. Vaguely he wonders if the man meditates as Lady Q once claimed Spock said he did.

He gives Spock a quick kiss on the mouth and the usual warning, "Lights go out in thirty."

But Spock catches his arm before he can fully close the store room door. "Leonard was not home when I left."

Jim hesitates only for a second then replies, "That shouldn't concern us right now, Spock," and leaves his boyfriend to the long wait alone.

* * *

><p>In the diner, the main lights over the tables switch off, muting the red color of booths and the white of a tiled floor. Where the window blinds are crooked, one can see the dim glow of another overheard light farther away, in the back area; it casts an eerie glow against the long, clear line of the counter and illuminates a register sitting at one end. An outline of an Asian man can be seen easily against the glass door as he turns the entrance's double locks and rattles the door once to make certain the locks are working properly. He then retreats to the kitchen of the building. The Enterprise Diner seems quietly empty and full of shadows once his figure is gone.<p>

A dark van drives along the highway at a snail's pace, creeping past the dimly lit diner, and turns a corner with equal care. In an adjacent parking lot of a closed strip mall, a car has been left abandoned since early morning. Ten minutes before the clock strikes eleven thirty a skulking shadow in a hoodie jacket skims the wall of one of the stores and crouches by the car's front left tire. What he is doing, no one can tell. Then he quickly and lithely rises to drift back into an alley between two empty buildings and is not seen again.

In the lot behind the Enterprise Diner, a cat climbs out of an industrial-sized green garbage bin to inspect what other edible leavings may be worth investigation. It stalks to an overturned bag, paws at a soda can, then quite suddenly lifts its head and goes very still. When the street lamp in the lot's corner flickers and wanes, its fur rises to stand on end in instinct and the cat dashes behind the garbage bin to hide.

A SUV is parked into a tiny squeeze of space between trees overgrown with kudzu at the very edge of the lot. Within it, someone gripes, not bothering to whisper, "Where'd you put—"

"Shh!" his compantion snarls. "You want 'em to hear us comin', moron?"

"Fuck you. Where's my knife?"

"Won't be needing no knife this time—got a gun for you."

"I ain't fuckin' shootin' nobody!"

"It's in case they fuckin' shoot at you, moron! _I'll _be doin' the shooting tonight, don't worry your fat head about that!"

Two men exit the SUV. The light of the dying street lamp catches a flash of gold from a wristwatch as the men jog over pavement toward a wall of the building.

* * *

><p>Jim wakes up with a snort and wipes at the drool on his chin. He looks bleary-eyed at the wall clock in the kitchen. "Ugh, what time is it?" Somehow he had fallen asleep between listening to Sulu chop lettuce with his sword (what the hell? Jim had asked about that and gotten a nonchalant shrug and a "it's more than sharp enough, my friend" in return) and straining to hear any less-than-innocuous sounds of a break-in while watching the diner's front entrance from the kitchen window.<p>

Sliding from his stool, he rolls his shoulders and cracks his back. "Man, how long was I asleep?"

"Fifteen minutes," Sulu replies dryly from his corner of the kitchen. "I considered chucking you in the back with the lawyer but decided he didn't deserve to listen to you snore."

Fifteen minutes feels like fifteen hours. Jim bounces on the balls of his feet. "No way do I snore, Sulu!"

Spock would tell him if he snored, right? They sleep together often enough...

"Where are you going?" Jim wants to know as he props a hip against the steel kitchen table and looks around for something to entertain himself with.

Sulu shoots Kirk a narrow-eyed look of _what do you care? you're too lazy to help_. In his right hand is bulging black bag of trash. "Garbage," the cook says shortly and opens the back door.

It happens so fast, it takes them both by surprise. Jim sees Sulu place a foot on the concrete steps, then sees the outward-opened door somehow magically swing back at the man like someone shoved it from the other side. Sulu, with a startled noise, is knocked off balance and falls sideways off the stoop to the ground. Then the door is jerked far enough back for a shadow to bound into the doorway and level the muzzle of a gun which, in a striking instance, coldly reflects the kitchen's light. The shadow—no, it's a side-profile of a man in black—takes aim where Sulu had fallen and fires twice in rapid succession. Jim, his brain barely registering the event before he reacts, doesn't think, just screams "SULU!", wraps his hand around the handle of the chef's katana, and charges forward.

Maybe it's the sight of a man charging him with a sword held high like a samurai that surprises the assailant into inaction, but his hesitation buys Jim enough time to barrel headlong into him. They go flying out the door, which instantly swings shut with a resounding slam, and plunge down the set of steps. Jim is distantly aware of landing on his ribs against the corner of something hard, but the sharp pain of the injury oddly enough lends him a perfect clarity. He doesn't even try to get to his feet before swiping at the man with the sword in his hand.

Someone cries out "Holy mother-fuck!" in response.

Jim doesn't care about anything but vengeance because the bastard with the gun shot, oh god—Jim's eyes sting—SHOT Sulu, his friend, SHOT HIS FRIEND—

The other man tosses dirt in Kirk's face to blind him, and somebody kicks a boot into Jim's back, sending him sprawling. As he twists to the side, the sword does too and Jim tries to stab at the person attacking him from behind.

"Holy mother-fuck!" the same voice repeats, high-pitched and belonging to another man dressed in black and a ski mask. The fellow dances back from the long reach of Jim's weapon. "He's got a fucking sword!"

"Ow, fuck, my leg, just fuckin' shoot him!"

"You said I didn't have to shoot nobody!"

While the thugs—for they can be none other, Jim recognizes their voices like a bad memory replay—argue, Jim rolls away and scrambles to his feet. The man on the ground, the one Jim had pushed down the stairs, realizes their target is on the move again and screams "Shoot him!"

Jim intends to cut the murdering bastard into bite-sized pieces until a warning shot whizzes by his ear. He whirls around, snarls at the other man leveling now at a gun at his chest, and watches in satisfaction as the fellow's eyes widen and the gun shakes in his hand.

Unfortunately it's two against one, and the first thug uses the opportunity to stagger to his feet and out of Jim's range. Jim is told to drop the sword. He backs up instead, moving away from the spotlight by the door of the diner. They can't shoot what they can't see.

"Fuckin' pussy!" the first thug snaps as he limps over to his partner. "Give it over, I'll do it!"

The second before Moron caves and hands over the weapon so Jim can be shot through the head, Jim runs. A missed shot ricochets off of Sulu's car as Jim ducks behind it for cover and keeps going. He can hear them in pursuit, but it doesn't matter because there's two of them and Jim cannot get the image of Sulu stepping through the door out of his head. It could have been Spock who, out of protectiveness over Jim, likes to leave the diner first when they are ready to go home in order to make certain the parking lot is burglar-free.

Sulu, who may be dead; Spock, who could still walk out that door and die just as easily.

Jim runs despite the massively painful burning in his side. As long as the thugs follow, he will keep running.

He doesn't have to go far. A van swerves onto the street at the opposite end, revs its engine and heads straight for him. Jim realizes then that staying out in the open is a horrible idea and veers off the sidewalk to cut between two buildings. Khan's thugs are still shooting at him, relentlessly driving him forward, faster. When he comes upon a low fence at the end of the alley, he uses one hand to grab a hold of the steel bar at the top and swing himself up and over it with the ease of an athlete. At any other time, Jim would be impressed with himself for the feat. Tonight, he simply wants to survive.

There is a litany of cursing behind him. Maybe they can't get over the fence as easily.

Jim hits the highway intersecting at Main Street and, upon seeing approaching headlights, thinks this would be the best possible time to encounter a cop. And where the hell is the officer Komack designated to watch over the diner and call for backup at the first sign of trouble?

He jumps in front of the car and yells, "HEY STOP!" Maybe the sword in his hand scares the girl behind the wheel. She swerves around him and floors it through a red light, visibly screaming as she does so.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He dives across the highway and pelts toward an empty bus stop. By the time he reaches it, Thug One and Thug Two have appeared out of the alleyway and spotted him. With the nearly dead traffic, the man with the gun has a clear line of sight to shoot him. Jim freezes behind the clear plastic overhang of the bus stop and drops into a crouch low to the ground.

A gunshot echoes in the dark and puts a hole through the bus stop sign. Too close, Jim thinks, and so when he hears an engine and sees a vehicle skid around the street corner of Main and squeal to a stop near him, he dives for it. Belatedly, he realizes it's the dark van. By then the door is open and Captain Christopher Pike is leaning out with an imperative hand and the command "GET IN!"

Jim hesitates a second too long. Pike jumps out of the van and tries to wrestle him into it. Naturally, as more gunshots rain around them like somebody is suitably pissed off, Jim reacts and tries to spear Pike with Sulu's katana—at which point, he gets the side of his head whacked with the butt of a handgun and is then tossed bodily into the back of the van. Jim feels like he is underwater as Pike pries his fingers from the sword's handle and barks at the van's driver, "Go, go, go!"

Aw fuck, straight from one trap to another, he thinks, and passes out.

* * *

><p><em>Present...<em>

Almost. In another second...

Jim is lifted up and cradled, and the other man, still talking, sounds so much closer now, is probably leaning in to comfort Jim's boyfriend. "Leonard, you only did what you had to. Jim will understand—"

A new smell, like cologne, which Bones doesn't wear. The moment it fills his nostrils, Jim acts. Bones cries out when Jim launches himself out of the man's arms and into Pike. Pike, clearly not expecting to be attacked by an unconscious man, falls under Jim's weight. The moment Jim has him pinned, Jim rolls away to his feet—and staggers when the floor shifts nastily under him.

"Jim!"

Ignoring the tilt of the floor and the protest of his stomach, Jim backs away instinctively from his captors. "Stay away from me," he grates out.

A door, left. Get to the door. Escape. Fuck, where this is place?

McCoy leaps after him anyway. "Jim, please, wait!"

_And let you ruin my life some more, Bones? _The words burn unspoken in his throat.

Pike, however, has no intention of pleading. He grips Jim's arm, and Jim lashes out but his vertigo makes it difficult to aim properly. Pike winds up grabbing him with both hands to prop him up so he doesn't fall over.

"You can't go anywhere, Kirk," Pike tells him.

"Why not?" he slurs. "...N-Not allowed?"

"Because you're in trouble, son."

He laughs, or tries to and quickly shuts his mouth as he thinks about throwing up instead. An arm goes around his shoulders—Bones, pulling him close. Face pressed against McCoy's neck and not understanding why he should feel so defeated, he mutters, "Fuck you both."

"Damn it, Jim," Leonard whispers, "I'm sorry."

"I hate you, Bones."

"Please don't," his lover says thickly.

"We don't have time to kiss and make-up," interrupts the hard voice of Christopher Pike. "Jim, I can't carry you. You'll have to walk."

Stung by the insinuation that he cannot navigate on his own two feet (never mind that he was terrible at it a few minutes ago), Jim straightens and pulls away from Leonard. After forcing down a surge of bile up his throat, he argues, "I'm not going anywhere with you!"

"You will," the other man threatens, "or you'll die. But I'm not giving you a choice. Let's go."

Jim's eyes methodically take in the man's bruised face, his dark clothes, then the gun in his hand. "I'd rather you shoot me now, thanks, than wait for you to do it when my back is turned."

"Jim!" Bones gasps.

He shrugs off Leonard's grip, his attention fixed on his opponent. "Do it, Pike," he challenges stiffly.

The man's expression is strange. "You think...? Shit." Christopher looks past Jim to Leonard. "He really doesn't know, does he?"

"What else is there to know?" Jim says bitterly, hating the silent communication going on around him. "You both work for Khan. You knew where to be and when, and I fucking bet you deliberately sabotaged our operation. What happened to Komack?" he demands, then swallows hard. Do they realize Khan's bastards killed Sulu?

"Jim," Leonard says gently and shifts so that he is looking directly at Jim, "we had to—to intervene. Khan put a price on your head."

He stares at McCoy, uncomprehending.

"Those men weren't at the diner to scare you. They were there to kill you."

Pike steps forward. "You were damned lucky McCoy came to me about it. I don't know what the fuck Komack was thinking. I _warned _him there had to be a mole in his department."

Jim shakes his head in denial and immediately pales when that only succeeds in making his brain slosh between his ears. "I don't understand. You're the one who—"

Leonard and Pike stiffen at the muted noise of car doors slamming shut through the building's walls.

Training his gun on the door Jim had never made it to, Christopher Pike says grimly, "And we don't have time to explain it to you. I think Khan's found us."

Beside Jim, a white-faced Leonard asks, "What do I do?"

The military man doesn't look at them. "Take Kirk and run." He inhales a deep, steadying breath before adding, "And don't let Jim argue about it, either. His mother would never forgive me if he died tonight. _Now go_."

Bones seems to take these words to heart. Jim simply doesn't have a moment to respond as the doctor spins him in the opposite direction and forcefully drags him deeper into the shadowed halls of the building.

"Bones!" he begins to protest, because Pike is going to die? He may be the bad guy—or _was_ the bad guy, Jim isn't sure now—but it sounds like there are _worse_ bad guys—of course, there's Khan—and Jim can't think properly with an aching head but he knows deep down that leaving a man behind is plain, gut-wrenchingly _wrong_, no matter who the bastard is.

He tries to say, "We should—"

Gunfire. A succession of shots, sharp staccato beats which are greedily swallowed up in the unnerving silence. Then a burst of return fire, and silence again.

Bones' hand spasms around his, perhaps in fear, but he only increases their pace down the hallway instead of halting.

Jim sucks in a breath. His side feels like it is splitting open (why does it throb so badly?) and the spots in his vision aren't helping matters. "Bones, wait!"

"Shut _up_, Jim."

At the sharp twisting cramp of his stomach, which he knew was coming, he breaks the clasp of their hands to drop to his knees and heave. When he is done emptying the contents of his stomach on the concrete floor, he clutches the side of his body that hurts him most and notices Bones has crouched in front of him to act as a shield. He spits the taste of vomit out of his mouth then turns his head toward his lover.

Seconds later, Jim says hoarsely and somewhat dumbly, "You have a gun."

"I'm not giving it to you," the doctor says automatically, though Leonard doesn't look at him and the gun twitches nervously in Leonard's two-handed grip. "Can you get back up? We need to find an exit—or a place to hide. _Shit_, why did Chris want to ditch the van?"

Bones with a gun is not an image Jim thought he would ever see; then he thinks about what McCoy is saying, thinks harder, and comes to a conclusion that almost steals his breath (though, to be honest, he cannot really breathe anyway). "Bones, you—you were—the van—you were _driving?_"

Leonard cuts his eyes at Jim. "Had to" is all he says.

Honestly, Jim can think of no reply to that. His muscles protest as he climbs to his feet. "T-That's my grandfather's pistol. Why do you have my grandfather's pistol?"

"Stole it from the diner. Don't ask." Leonard reaches for his hand. "C'mon…"

Jim doesn't ask, mainly because at that moment someone steps from a dark corner of the hallway, bellows "Got 'em!" upon sighting McCoy and Kirk, and opens fire with a gun much larger and meaner than McCoy's.

Suddenly Jim's body isn't opposed to running at all. Leonard grabs his free hand, and they bolt. In the back of his mind, as he is running for his life with Bones, Jim realizes two things: one, the man firing at them isn't one of the thugs that had chased him to the bus stop and, two, there is blood on his fingers. At some point tonight, he had been shot himself.


	11. Part Ten

**Emotional rollercoaster much? I am exhausted and have come to the conclusion if this story doesn't resolve itself in the next 25k words, I am giving up on it as hopeless. And planting a big sign herein that says KHAN WINS.**

**Here are some explanations. Everybody deserves them by now, right?**

**Also, this is overly long and unadulterated 7k words of drama. Ye be warned.**

* * *

><p><strong>Part Ten<strong>

If Jim thought he was going to die, he is sadly mistaken.

The stranger shooting at their backs with, of all things, a _machine gun _apparently cannot hit the broad side of a barn. A spray of bullets carves a groove into the wall above their heads, and bits of plaster and chipped concrete go flying. Jim ducks and shields his face with his free arm. Maybe the gun is too heavy to tote around because the two men seem to double their head start as they dive into the next hallway. There is a shout behind them, another smattering of bullets close by, but Jim and Leonard don't stop running.

He has no idea where they are (not even the location of the dilapidated building they are in), let alone has its schematics memorized, but he hopes Bones does. Then they round a corner and come to a dead-end.

Well then. Bones has no idea either.

Jim tries not to panic more than he already is and sways on his feet, which in his (usually more rational, less panicked) opinion is not a manly thing to do in the middle of a crisis, regardless of severe blood loss and trauma to the head.

Then he is unceremoniously shoved toward a wall of the hallway by Leonard and watches, somewhat oddly detached, as the doctor takes a wide-legged stance and aims Jim's granddaddy's pistol at the corner their assailant is about to appear from (and more than likely shoot them full of holes when said assailant does). Seeing the grim, pale face of his boyfriend and his obvious determination to protect Jim until the last possible second, in that instant, Jim forgives him every moment of lying. And, surprisingly, the heartache Jim has been carrying around like a constant companion eases to a bearable level.

Jim decides he doesn't want to die not standing by Leonard's side. He pushes himself off the wall and half-stumbles, half-falls toward McCoy.

"Bones..."

They're fucked anyway, so why should he pass into the afterlife without reminding Bones of the most important thing?

He presses his side against Leonard's, which is the best comforting contact he can make without hampering the man's ability to aim and shoot.

"I love you," he whispers, and there they are, the words, easy and fluid, always lurking beneath the surface of Jim's emotions whether he is hurting or angry or sad. They aren't difficult to say.

"Love you too, idiot," Bones murmurs softly in return, and Jim's heart twists at the affection and gentle resignation in the reply. Bones knows too they're probably going to die in the next minute or so, and it seems he doesn't want hard feelings follow them into the grave either.

Echoes of footsteps; running. They hear a man's rapid breathing.

The gun in Leonard's hands steadies and he angles his body slightly to put Jim behind his right elbow. Jim considers throwing himself in front of McCoy to buy time because why not? He's already dying, if the slick blood coating his side and his clothes is anything to go by. If he could just...

They can make out the sharp, smooth click of a gun cartridge. Too close now.

Jim slides around McCoy to his opposite side, suddenly calmer than he was moments ago.

"Jim, _don't_," Leonard bites out. "Stay behind me!"

Jim smiles softly, not to Leonard but to himself, thinking _Let me take every bullet meant for Bones. Please just let me do that._

The owner of the footsteps is unfortunately smart enough to stop at the corner rather than immediately rounding it to attack. His shadow precedes him, stretching across the end of the hallway like an ill omen. Jim's eyes catch on a ridiculous detail: the shadow is wearing a hat. With a pang, he thinks of that day in the park and Spock looking menacing (and wonderful) in his bowler hat.

Leonard reaches for Jim with a sharp intake of breath at the same time Jim coils in preparation to use himself as a human shield.

The shadow—no, not the shadow but the man it belongs to—surprises them both by speaking. "Mr. Kirk? Dr. McCoy?"

Jim doesn't recognize the flat tone.

"The assassin has been disabled," the shadow continues on, then pauses. "I will not harm you."

Jim had a fleeting moment of hope before that pause. His gut instinctively says _liar._

Leonard calls back, "Put your weapon on the ground. And keep your hands where I can see 'em! I swear I'll shoot you otherwise!"

"This gun does not have bullets," the shadow man says as he slowly steps around the corner and into their line of sight. But he doesn't drop his gun like Bones ordered him to, though he keeps his hands raised to placate McCoy.

Jim only needs a second of looking at the man to place his impassive face. His hand automatically seeks his injured side and presses there; pain clears the confused clamoring in his head. "What the fuck," he says harshly, "Q?"

Beneath the rim of his hat, the Q levels a steady dark gaze at Kirk. "I have disabled the assassin," he repeats. "You must leave this place immediately. Others will come."

Something about the Q satisfies Bones; Jim turns to his boyfriend, mystified and questioning and apprehensive, when Bones lowers the pistol. "Jim needs immediate medical attention," the doctor tells the Q. "We left the van, and Chris—" Leonard stills. In a rush, he says, "Good Lord, _Chris_. You need to—he may be—"

"That," the Q interrupts, "has been taken care of."

Jim takes a wobbling step between McCoy and the Q. "Wait a second," he snaps, because something isn't right here, he can feel it. "What happened to Khan's men?"

The slight quirk of the Q's mouth is the only warning he gives before he moves, as if Jim had given a cue—moves so fast Jim has no time to react—and takes a solid grip on his gun, aiming it at Jim. But when the Q fires, followed swiftly by a loud damning _crack_ in the surrounding silence, something whistles past Jim's cheek, and behind Jim Leonard's sharp "_What—!_" is instantly bitten off.

The world narrows to the echo of the gunfire, to the cool, calculating look in the Q's eyes, and Leonard's cry in Jim's ears.

His brain finally catches up to the present with a punch of realization: the Q shot at Leonard. Not Jim—Bones.

_Bones._

His body, already stiff with horror, turns toward Leonard of its own volition. He sees McCoy stagger back one step then another and, shocked, pluck something from his neck. Pinched between Leonard's bloodless fingers is a small dart.

Jim throws himself at Leonard in the same instant McCoy's knees buckle. "BONES!"

_This gun does not have bullets._

Leonard's breath hitches. He grabs Jim's shirt in one hand, the pistol clattering to the ground beside them, and drops his head against Jim's chest.

_This gun does not have bullets._

"Bones!" Jim cries again. Leonard slumps to the side, slurring Jim's name and the beginnings of an apology. Jim is simply unable to breathe for the terror choking him. He clutches at Leonard's limp body.

When the Q crouches near them, Jim, still cradling Bones in his arms, snaps his head up and without thinking steals the pistol near his knee. But the Q only stares fearlessly at him when he cocks and aims it.

As much as Jim wants to shoot the bastard point-blank in the face, he needs answers. "What did you do to Bones?"

"It's a harmless tranquilizer." Then a moment later, the Q adds, "I will not sedate you."

"It'll be your funeral if you don't," Jim snarls back.

"I would rather not kill you in the process of saving you, Mr. Kirk. Her Ladyship would be most displeased. We were instructed only to intervene and secure both parties."

"_S-Secure_?" Jim sputters, then roars, "YOU TRANQ-ED MY BOYFRIEND!"

At the nearby sound of a boot scuffing against a concrete floor, the man looks past Jim and remarks mildly, "Ah, Q. Please place Dr. McCoy with the Captain."

When Jim makes the mistake focusing his attention elsewhere by whipping his head around to glare at the latest Q arrival—how long had this one been standing there? why didn't he hear him earlier?—the pistol is snatched from his hand. The Q stands up and tucks Jim's gun along with his tranquilizer gun inside his coat and motions for the other Q to take McCoy.

Weakened by his injury, Jim is at a disadvantage to prevent the Q for prying Leonard away from him; his resistance only serves to tire him out and it certainly does not endear him to either Q. He is summarily hoisted to his feet.

"You may lean on me if necessary," the first Q offers.

Jim flips his middle finger in the man's face and doggedly hobbles after the other Q carting Bones through the building in a fireman's carry. By the time they exit the building (which is the absolute opposite direction he and Bones had been running—fuck, Jim thinks) and their group reaches two parked vehicles circled by more silent Q, he is barely able to stay on his feet. His thoughts buzz dizzily around his head, making little sense except _stay with Bones, look after Bones, where's Bones?_

A Q helps Jim into a car seat, asks him a question he cannot focus on, then tucks something around him. Grateful for the warmth (oh, it's a blanket, when had it gotten so cold?), he struggles to keep his eyes open and focuses.

"McCoy?" he asks the interior of the car.

"The doctor is well," someone at his shoulder assures him. "The Captain is well also. No, remain still, Mr. Kirk. You will open the wound further." Softer now, the voice says, "Did we capture them all? Excellent. Signal the other driver. We must depart and make haste for the campus. Her Ladyship's favorite is ill."

"_Favorite_," Jim murmurs, exhaustion and injury weighing down his eyelids. He's Bones' favorite, Spock's favorite. Mom's favorite. Definitely not Nyota's favorite. Ha.

Chuckling, it turns out, hurts like a wicked bitch. Jim shivers after the pain subsides. He forces his eyes open again, determined to be coherent for their journey, but that same voice—oh, it's that damned Q in the hat but Jim can't find his hatred because he's so achingly tired—advises quietly, "You should rest while you can. Your strength will be required later."

_What good advice_, Jim thinks, letting his head drop to his chest and his eyes slide closed. Because if he is going to see Lady Q (isn't he?) he really ought to sleep first. Wounded though they may be, kidnapped though they surely are, Lady Q demands nothing less than full attention from her guests.

* * *

><p>"I know you're awake, dearest."<p>

Something taps his cheek. Eyes closed and drowsy, Jim _hmmm_s and turns his head away. It can't be time to get up, can it?

Again, that annoyance happens. Tap. Tap tap.

"James," a feminine voice croons gently.

"Nnngghh," Jim mutters, "'nother minute, Mommy."

Silence. Then, "Is he drugged?"

A new voice, definitely male but soft-spoken. He faintly hears talking: "Yes, your Ladyship. We gave him a significant dose of pain medication to make his rest more comfortable."

"But I can wake him, yes?"

"As you wish."

The something that tapped his cheek relocates to his shoulder, this time with a slight warning bite to it as it sharply RAP-RAPs instead of tap-taps.

Jim grunts and drags open an eyelid. He stares at the object for a little while before it registers as the wooden frame of a woman's fan. He opens his other eye then and traces the thin wrinkled hand holding it to a lacy wrist ruffle, up a paisley pink fabric-clad arm to a very familiar face.

The face beams at him. "Lovely! You are awake, my boy! Sit up now," his arm is tugged on with impatience, "and drink some water for Mummy. You'll feel much better after some water."

Jim jerks his arm away at the word 'Mummy', gasping, "You aren't my mother!" Looking around the room, he recognizes the decor and realizes where he is. "Oh _fuck_."

Lady Q pops the back of his hand with her fan. "Language!"

"Shit!"

POP! "James, language!"

He wisely muffles his next curse word, putting his mouth against a faint red welt on the back of his hand to soothe its hurting. After a moment, Jim drops his hand and sits up, only to stop halfway through the motion and clutch his side.

"Oh," Lady Q interrupts his groan, "you must be careful. Do not tear the stitches!"

"Stitches."

"Yes," she explains, her voice suddenly dropping to a normal pitch. "Your injury might have been more serious, understand, but it did warrant a blood transfusion."

He lifts his clean shirt and stares at a white bandage.

"I assure you there will be no scar."

He snaps his head up to stare at Lady Q. Upon considering her expression, he pales but not because he is light-headed. "You d-didn't operate on me, did you?" They aren't even at a hospital! Oh god.

She pats his trembling hand. "It was just a graze, dear, not a wound I had to dig a bullet out of."

"_I?_"

She holds up a needle, procured from nowhere he can readily see. "I sew famously well. I think you will approve of the neatness of my handiwork."

Jim flops back onto the bed, covers his eyes with a hand and tries to stop his thinking altogether.

The tapping starts again. "Now is not the time to dawdle, young man."

"I'm sick," he mutters because he really, really is. There are _Lady Q's sewing stitches _in his body; he wonders if his life will turn into some grotesque horror show where he's Frankenstein and Lady Q is his creator. Do the Q store extra body parts? No doubt they do.

His fingers seek out the bandage again as he wishes Bones could have—

His eyes fly open. "Bones!"

A sigh corresponds to his shout. "So. I am to be forsaken for your lover, then. Very well."

Jim ignores her and thrusts his legs out from under a lovely pale-yellow duvet. He lifts the duvet to flip it off of him, only to stare down at himself and ask, "Where are my pants?"

Lady Q leans forward from her overly large visitor's chair and pulls back a corner of the duvet to peek. "My, my, what lovely—"

Jim jerks the duvet away from her before she can finish her sentence and wraps it around his waist, dragging it with him as he abandons the bed to stalk towards the door. Screw pants.

"Where's Bones?" Jim demands of the male Q loitering just inside the entrance to his bedroom.

The Q, a butler according to his immaculate attire, eyes Jim's duvet-covered legs. "Shall I send the footman, sir, if you are ready to dress?"

"BONES!" Jim bellows, shouldering the Q aside. His side is beginning to ache now that he is moving around but that doesn't matter. He is certain if he doesn't stop yelling _somebody _will give him what he wants—which, namely, is Leonard McCoy.

Jim stalks into the sitting room adjoining his bedroom. "BONES!"

There is a muffled voice somewhere to his left. Jim turns, pinpointing the direction of the sound, and narrows his eyes at a closed door across the sitting room. He strides toward it, trailing a duvet, a butler, and an old lady in a heavy fabric dress probably twice her weight.

His fingers curl around the doorknob the moment the doorknob twists under another force and the door swings inward to reveal, of all things, a balefully glaring Christopher Pike.

Jim rocks back on his heels, his mouth hanging open as his eyes scrutinze the man from head to very bare feet. "Is that—a _nightgown_?"

"If you laugh, I'll kill you," Pike warns him as his nightgown's matching nightcap slides forward, threatening to cover his eyes. The man growls and jerks it from his head. From the manic look in his eyes, Jim decides he wants to stomp on it.

An excited voice pipes up from behind Jim, "It's authentic nightwear, of course! Prince Machiavelli had one in blue."

Damn it, that tickle in his throat feels like a laugh. Jim swallows it but is unable to hide the slight watering of his eyes. "So," he says conversationally to the man glowering at him, "you aren't dead."

Pike backs into his room, clearly prepared to slam his door in Jim's face. "McCoy's not here. Stop shouting."

Jim shuffles into the doorway and props a hip against the doorjamb, baring his teeth at the man. "McCoy isn't in your room _here_ or isn't on the premises _here_?"

Christopher's hand flexes around the edge of his door. "You annoy me more than your father ever did, Jim. Congratulations." The motion of his head indicates someone Jim can't currently see. "Ask Bella where your doctor is. Now get the hell out of my doorway, and don't expect me downstairs until dinnertime."

Thus Jim is subsequently kicked out of Pike's domain. He gathers the end of the duvet, dignity still intact, knowing he is lucky Pike didn't strip it from him and toss him underwear first into Lady Q's cackling clutches.

He sighs and drops onto a chaise lounge. His side really does hurt now, quite fiercely. What kind of cheap pain meds did they put him on?

Lady Q perches on the end of his chaise lounge. "Dearest, you look faint. Shall I send for some candies for you to nibble upon?"

He looks at her and asks, "And if I asked for pants?"

She smiles but says nothing.

Jim cuts his eyes to the butler, who resolutely studies the pattern of the wallpaper. Jim sinks further into the duvet, wondering when fate abandoned him to this crazy woman. "Tell me about Bones." The request sounds more petulant aloud than it did in his head.

"He was angry," she says after a moment. "Understandably and with good reason. But we had a nice chat and he calmed down in the end. Do you know your doctor has a tendency toward violent behavior, James?"

_I'll bet._

"One of your guards refused to allow him to see you and he hit the poor man." She sighs wistfully. "I would have much preferred a duel. Duels are romantic."

"Why couldn't he see me?"

But Lady Q doesn't answer his question. Instead she reaches for his hand. "James, you have a forgiving nature. You need that now, more than anything. Do not think too harshly of your Doctor McCoy for what he has done."

Jim sits up. "What do you know about that?"

She withdraws her hand slowly. "I fear you will think unkindly of me as well if I explain."

His back tenses but he tries not to show it. Voice calm, Jim tells her, "I would prefer an explanation. I think I deserve one."

Her eyes, not kindled with craziness but with too much understanding, and perhaps sadness, search his for a moment. "Christopher is in a better position to explain than I."

Jim doesn't quite grit his teeth. "You bring the subject up and then you want to tell me nothing. That's _cold _of you, Lady Q."

She looks away, her fan motionless in her lap. "We used you." There is a hint of something painful in her voice at the admission.

When the woman says nothing else, Jim tucks his legs under him and leans forward to urge her, "Tell me."

But her eyes clear of sadness and the old woman smiles lightly, patting his hand again while saying, "I am very grateful you survived, my dear."

The butler escorts Lady Q to the door of the sitting door with ceremony. She tells her attendant, "See to it that our young Captain has his pants returned to him, Q. Then bathe him and prepare him for dinner."

The way she says it, Jim wonders if he isn't the _dinner _rather than the guest.

"We part here," she calls to Jim, "but we shall meet again!"

His feelings are mixed over this announcement because she seems to have answers he wants but those answers don't come without the price of paying her court—which Jim is shit at doing.

When Lady Q is gone, he glares at the Q until the Q asks, "How may I assist thee?"

He crosses his arms, ignoring the fact he looks like an oversized baby swaddled in a blanket, and asks, "Is Bones allowed to see me now that I'm coherent?"

"That," the Q answers, "is her Ladyship's decision. She wished to be the first to greet you upon awakening and explained this to the doctor. ...I believe he agreed after examining you to his satisfaction, citing himself as your primary physician."

So Bones _did _get to see him. That sneaky Lady Q...

The Q clears his throat, no doubt unnerved by the intensity in Jim's blue eyes. "Sir, if you require a visit by your... doctor, I will make the request of her Ladyship." The offer surprises Jim but the butler prudently adds before Jim can agree, "However, he _will _be dining with you this evening."

Jim thinks about this. "When's dinner?"

"It is to be served once you are properly attired, sir."

Jim stands up and flings the yellow duvet aside. The butler looks scandalized to see his bare legs and Fruit of the Looms and quickly about-faces.

"Let's get me dressed then," Kirk declares, heading back to his bedroom.

* * *

><p>He is expecting Bones at dinner but not the person who shoves ahead of McCoy to greet him when he enters the room with Christopher Pike (who, with an exquisite sense of timing, met him in the sitting room fully dressed for dinner). Pike takes one look at the person barreling in their direction and excuses himself.<p>

"Gaila!" Jim says, almost too shocked for words.

She stops within arm's reach of him and looks him over. Her eyes fix on his side. Jim self-consciously shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He is grateful she can't see the white bandage beneath his loose shirt (a pirate's shirt, he'd been duly informed by the footman sent with Lady Q's choice of clothing for him).

Gaila closes the distance between them and skims her fingers in the precise spot where his bandage would be if visible. "So it's true," she says quietly, so much so that Jim almost has to lean in to hear her.

He takes her hand and presses a kiss to the back of it and declares roguishly, "It's good to see you again, my red-headed beauty!"

Her mouth curves at his blatant ploy to distract her. "Flattery gets you everywhere, good sir," she rejoins impishly, playing along with him for the moment.

He squeezes her hand, genuinely glad to see her. Nonetheless, his joy fades, and Jim feels he has to ask, "Why did you come, Gaila?"

_How did you know?_

The smile stiffens on her face before fading. "Nyota called me about Sulu. I overheard where you were."

The air freezes in Jim's lungs. Oh, oh fuck. He'd _forgotten_. Sulu!

His distress must be evident on his face, because Gaila breaks his grip to cup his face. "Jim," she says soothingly, "Jim, it's okay. Sulu isn't—well, he's _hurt_—but he's going to be okay."

There is a warm hand rubbing his back and Bones' voice in his ear murmuring, "Jim, breathe. In, out. That's good, darlin'."

When his panic attack subsides enough that he can think again, Jim pulls away from Leonard and Gaila and takes one giant, unsteady step backwards to regain his personal space. "I'm okay." He doesn't feel okay but whatever.

Sulu isn't dead?

"No," Bones tells him.

Oh, he must have said that out loud. Taking firm control of his crazy thoughts, he presses, "How hurt is 'hurt'?"

"From what Spock said, the first bullet lodged in his shoulder but he dodged the second by rolling out of the way. Apparently the man has the reflexes of a spooked cat. Then, from what I can gather, you tackled the guy who was shooting at him."

Jim nods, finally feeling steadier than before. "I did. I thought…" He closes his eyes briefly. "That's good, that Sulu's not—" Shit, he can't even process the enormity of his relief. So Jim focuses on something else. "You spoke to Spock?"

Leonard looks solemn. "He'll be here soon enough, Jim, so why don't we save that for later?" His eyes cut pointedly to Gaila.

Jim understands his meaning immediately; that is, the shit's going to hit the fan when Spock arrives. Though Jim is fairly certain he can't be blamed for a majority of the events that took place in the last several hours, Spock was left out of them—and Jim almost died.

_Correction_, Jim thinks, eyeing the dark circles under Leonard's eyes, he and Bones both almost died.

Spock is going to carve out somebody's liver and serve it up on a platter with a polite rage that'll send Q's running in every direction. With the exception, Jim decides as he spies their seated hostess, of Lady Q. She will probably provide the parsley garnish alongside entertaining Peanut Gallery commentary.

Leonard clears his throat, and Jim realizes his thoughts have wandered. Then he realizes Gaila is waiting for him to do something, not that he has any idea what that something may be. He returns her frank stare.

"Is your shoulder injured?" she asks him in a very serious tone.

Jim shakes his head, not spying the way Bones slips farther away from the female. He immediately regrets his answer when she punches his uninjured shoulder.

Suddenly the woman is yelling, "You stupid man! You stupid, stupid man! HOW could you DO that?"

"What, ow! What?"

"You—" punch "—purposefully—" punch "—wanted those—" punch punch "—criminals to find you and hurt you!"

"No!" he denies, surprised at her words and more than ready to convince her stop beating up on him. "I wasn't supposed to get hurt!"

"YOU ALWAYS GET HURT!" Gaila rages.

Jim dances out of range of her fists and shoots a pleading glance at McCoy. The man looks smug. Jim _hates _smug boyfriends. He makes a rude gesture in Bones' direction.

Since Gaila is still stalking him, he returns his attention to her. "It's fine, Gaila. I'm fine, everything's fine!" This doesn't seem to appease her. He switches tactics. "Okay, maybe it was a little—dumb. But I had a good reason!"

That gives her pause. "I've never heard a man come up with a good reason for _anything_. What is it?"

"Uh..." How is he supposed to feel confident about his answer when she's looking at him like that? Jim hedges, "I did it to catch them. So they wouldn't terrorize the town."

Gaila rolls her eyes, but she uncurls her fists and crosses her arms, which Jim interprets as a good sign. "You did it to get dirt on Khan," she announces.

Jim blinks at her. "You know about that?"

She makes a fizzling noise like a steam kettle boiling over and, oh crap, Jim has no clue how he managed to re-incite her rage.

"Just because I'm marrying the man doesn't mean I have to be ignorant about everything! And if it wasn't for Nyota's weekly updates, I WOULD BE!" Gaila accuses. "At least _she_ gives me some credit, Jim! I may not like hearing what you think about my fiancée or what he's doing but I _can _handle it!"

"Oh," he says, feeling awkward. "I'm sorry?"

"You should be sorry!" At the sound of a deep chuckle, Gaila rounds on Leonard and stabs a finger in his direction. "You too, mister! I trusted you to keep an eye on Jim and you didn't even have the balls to tell me what he was up to!"

Bones' smug face quickly dissolves into alarm. "Gaila, I didn't think you—"

Gaila throws her hands up in the air. "MEN! You all _suck! _I've had enough of you!"

Lady Q appears to be quite pleased when Gaila stomps to the dining table and chooses a seat next to her. "Welcome to the sane side of the room, my dear," she tells Gaila airily.

Jim feels Gaila's glare tracking him all the way to his seat. He doesn't dare look in her direction. It should be a small consolation that she has stopped punching him but he thinks he would rather be hit than whatever else it is she is currently planning (probably his demise by nail clippers and bobby pins) to do to him at a later date.

"A little drama before dinner is always lovely!" Lady Q cries, clapping her hands together with delight. She calls the rest of the men to the table. "Now I am ever-so hungry. Q—" A servant appears to detach himself from the wall fixtures (Jim certainly hadn't noticed him before now) and bows. "—bring the first course, please."

* * *

><p>Somehow, in Jim's mind, getting shot at and almost killed never translated into a long evening dining in the company of Bones, Gaila, Pike, and Lady Q. However, as he waits on the dessert course, he finds himself unable to care that he is once again trapped in the Q compound listening to Lady Q's outrageous comments.<p>

Being alive counts for something, doesn't it?

Jim catches Leonard's eyes across the table. Then he quickly fixes his gaze on his plate because he realizes he almost smiled at the man.

Smiled at Bones. When was the last time he did that genuinely without feeling bitter?

Something's changed between them, almost like the lancing of a wound which had festered too long. He should be angry but when he tries to rally that angry, he thinks about the moment in the hallway when they hit the dead-end.

_I love you._

Jim picks up his wine glass (sadly filled with water because of the medical treatment for his injury) and studies it.

Three simple words. He has said them in the past and meant them, but when he and Leonard were facing death like that—each other's deaths—he is certain he has never meant them in quite that way before. It wasn't the conviction behind them which strikes him but their forgiveness, their power of healing, to say _I want to fix this with you_.

Why shouldn't that be what lies in his heart, beneath the pain of betrayal?

He replaces his wine glass in its proper spot and glances up. Leonard is watching him, silent, eyes full of emotion. He sees everything Leonard has been trying to tell him all along and can't tell him, even now, separated only by a negligible distance as they are.

This time Jim smiles at him.

_I am going to forgive you, Bones, _he doesn't say.

Leonard draws in a slow, steadying breath like he can hear Jim's thoughts. His face reads, quite clearly, _thank you, Jim._

* * *

><p>Christopher Pike is, apparently, tired of the charade by the end of the eighth course. He lays down his spoon and fixes a hard stare across the table at Lady Q that sends an invisible critter skittering up Jim's spine.<p>

"Has the playacting concluded to your satisfaction yet, Bella?" the Captain asks.

Lady Q—who had been regaling McCoy with a tale of Civil War between a Lord Q who believed in old-style push-pull-plowing for farms and his far-removed cousin Q who wanted to invest in the Industrial Age (Jim isn't certain who won that war, though Lady Q at one point insinuated the world might still be traveling to-and-fro in horse-drawn carriages rather than automobiles if it hadn't ended as it did)—pauses in her conversation to observe Pike through a glass eye-piece.

"My dearest Captain, could you so kindly repeat your question? I was distracted."

Pike folds his napkin neatly and places to the side, then turns his hard stare to Jim. "It's time we told you the truth, son."

Jim has been resisting his urge to fight with Pike since their walk to the dining room. He doesn't think Bones would try to stop him and certainly Lady Q might be amused by the gentlemanly tussle between her guests, but Gaila wouldn't know why Jim was trying to smash in Chris's face.

Yeah, Pike apparently wanted to save his life. Does that negate trying to sweet-talk Winona into joining forces with the dark side, i.e. Khan Noonien Singh?

Bones might remind him he is exaggerating the situation slightly but Jim doesn't feel like being picky about details. So he returns Pike's attention with a sharp grin and a lure of his own: "Oh, I get it, Pike. You're the good guy. Congratulations. Doesn't mean you didn't try to fuck over my mom."

Somebody mutters, "Oh God, here we go…"

Lady Q dings her glass with her fork. "There are ladies present! Your language must remain civil!"

Jim ignores her, entirely too pleased at the way Pike is stiff with the effort to control his reaction.

"Your mother—" Pike bites out, "—is not a part of this conversation." Before Jim can refute that, he says in a low voice, "Leave her out of it, Jim."

Jim narrows his eyes but considers the suggestion. Out of respect for his mother—maybe he should defend her honor when he can actually punch Pike and not rip the stitches in his skin doing so?—he lets it go. "Then say what you have to say."

A moment passes, then another, and finally Chris' shoulders release his pent-up tension. "…You didn't botch anything up, Kirk."

…and that is totally _not _what Jim expected to hear. He frowns but waits for the rest.

Pike sighs and idly strokes the stem of his wine glass with his thumb. "We set you up and you did exactly what you were supposed to."

Across from Jim, Leonard hisses, "Chris, that's the worst way to explain it."

Pike shoots a look at McCoy and says almost too casually, "Your doctor here I handpicked myself to help out."

Jim swallows the lump in his throat. "And why did you pick Bones?"

"Because I knew Khan would target him, and he had to know why."

That… makes sense but _doesn't_.

"Jim, listen for a minute before you judge. When I told you that Khan was someone the government didn't trust, I meant it. We've had our eyes on him for _decades_; spies, intel, inside sources—you name it. And every time we thought we were close to catching him, the bastard slipped through another legal loophole."

Jim can sense how uncomfortable Gaila is with this conversation but she remains silently attentive to what they are saying, whether she agrees or not.

Pike is still talking: "He has an MO, Jim. He likes to target a certain category of small towns with the potential for takeover by a major industry; but more than that, he has a need to _fight _for what he wants. Some of the country's top psychologists think it's partly paranoia, partly overwhelming egotism… I can't explain it any better than that, I'm afraid. What I'm saying, though, is that what Khan wants, above all else, is an enemy."

Pike hesitates briefly before continuing. Jim finds himself inexplicably riveted to the man now.

"He likes to choose his enemy, so to speak, before he even begins to campaign with Eugenics."

That has Jim saying, "Wait, _choose_? How can somebody just—?"

Chris shakes his head. "It's not an entirely random choice, I promise you. He develops a feel for the town and for the people with power there. But what he's looking for is a challenge, Jim, and that has nothing to do with titles or money. It's about—"

"Leadership," Jim supplies, thinking back to his conversation with Khan. "Men who were born to be superior." Hadn't he thought that was the talk of a crazy man?

Pike dips his head in affirmation. "Yes, something like that. My point is: he found you."

Silence settles over the table. Jim is loathe to break it but he has to know, "Why me?"

For some strange reason, Christopher Pike smiles at him. "If you don't already know, son, then I doubt I can convince you of Khan's reasons."

Jim snorts. "So you aren't going to claim it's my amazing charm?"

"Shut up, Jim," Bones says mildly, looking at him affectionately.

Jim is sorely tempted to stick his tongue out at McCoy. He reins in the desire when Pike resumes his explanation.

"We've tried before to catch Khan in the act."

Act of what? But Pike doesn't specify and Jim has a feeling he doesn't want to know.

"We've never succeeded. In the last attempt, we told Khan's 'target' what was going to happen to him—that Khan would find ways to undermine his family, his friends, anything he could in order to push the 'target' to a breaking point."

Jim realizes, sick, the 'target' is a person. Someone like him, an innocent. "What happens at the breaking point?"

Pike is silent for some seconds. "The end result always varies slightly but the common thread is that Khan likes to see his enemy become the exact opposite of what that person is at his core—which is usually a respected and revered citizen of the community. ...Someone people trust more than they would trust themselves. In a way, it's a brilliant strategy. He destroys one man's reputation completely while building credence for himself, making _Khan _the person to be trusted above all else. He's brought down more cities than you can imagine this way."

Jim's head hurts. He tries not to think too hard about how much Khan would love to see him confess his 'sins' to Riverside. What was it Khan said? _"…when that respect I always hear coupled with the name James T. Kirk is gone…"_

It fits too well with Pike's theory.

He breathes in deeply to collect himself and asks, "If I'm guessing correctly, you said you told the last guy what to expect. So the idea, _this time_, was to let me fight him blind?"

"It's not like that," Pike says sharply. "Well, okay, it _is _like that on some level. We needed you to be genuine in your dealings with him." At Jim's offended expression, Pike sighs. "Perhaps genuine is the wrong word... raw, Jim. We needed you raw, vulnerable. Something about the time before, when we tried it differently, threw Khan off. Maybe he sensed he wasn't entirely in control of the game. Whatever happened, however, he cut ties to the town. Just packed up and walked away."

"Isn't that what we want him to do?" mutters McCoy, frowning.

"And left the place in shambles like a kid kicking over his sandcastle," Pike adds pointedly to Leonard. "Khan is testing Jim at every turn now. If he thought Jim wasn't acting out on his own, or that Jim's desperation wasn't real because of what he was doing to Jim—"

"Hey, I'm not desperate!"

"—he'd crush Riverside under his boot heel. I told you that. And I also told you Khan would pick you as the weakest link and exploit you, didn't I? Was I wrong, McCoy?"

At Leonard's pale face, Jim snaps "Back off!" to Pike.

Chris makes a half-hearted gesture of apology. "I'm sorry but the truth is unpleasant for all of us. Khan wants you ruined, Jim, and he's picking off your family and friends to do it. Hell, he secured your ex-girlfriend as his lover before you even knew his name!"

Silverware clatters as it hits a plate. Gaila gasps and pushes back from the table, her hands clearly shaking as she shields her face; her sob isn't quite stifled enough not to be heard by the occupants of the dining room. She hurries away from them.

Jim leaps after her, not caring about what else Pike might have to say or that he's abandoning Lady Q's dinner; he isn't even listening to McCoy's "Damn it, Chris, what's the matter with you? The woman was _right here!_"

"Gaila!" Jim calls.

She ignores him as she rushes out of the room, head bowed. Jim jogs to catch up to her in a hallway. At the touch of his hand on her arm, she comes to a standstill.

"Gaila..."

He can feel the tremble of her shoulders as he turns her around to face him. Except for the shaking and small noises she is trying so hard to contain, she is silent and won't look at him.

He offers gently, "You can hit me if you want."

The sorrow breaks free from her then. "J-Jim." Gaila turns her face up to his, and he feels his own face crack under her pain.

She starts to cry in earnest. "Jim," she repeats like she's lost, "oh, Jim."

He wraps his arms around her and lets her hide her face and her shame at crying against his chest, feeling every sob that rattles through her and soaks wetly into his shirt. His eyes burn at the effort not to cry too, to share her sorrow.

"I'm sorry," he whispers against her hair. "I'm so sorry, Gaila."

Words aren't enough. They can never be enough. The only thing he is able to do, what he _is _doing, is hold her tightly so she knows she isn't alone as her heart breaks.


	12. Part Eleven

**An author's confession: The first soap opera I ever watched seriously was a show called Passions. I was of the opinion, before Passions, that only a fool would waste time on over-exaggerated drama and layer-upon-layer of mindless duplicity. Then Passions came along. It was in and of itself a parody of soap operas. It had everything you would think of as fanciful and ridiculous: witches and warlocks, doll-turning-boy, an orangutan named Precious in love with a human, star-crossed lovers complete with past-life flashbacks (like Titanic and POTC, WTH?), a slightly incestuous family, and a town torn between Good and Evil and on the verge of an apocalypse. I could go on. If Passions had lived past its infancy (nine years or so), the writers would have no doubt worked in vampires and werewolves to satisfy the public's current obsessions. Looking back, I realized there was a lesson to be learned: sometimes you simply shouldn't take yourself too seriously.**

**What's life without a little wacky humor?**

**My writing has always had a flavor of that, and I think this AU showcases it well. The Riverside 'verse is often pure crack, you know? I thought maybe we should take a moment to remember that.**

**Also, this chapter is dedicated to Romanse, who loves soap opera-like drama - the good and bad - as much as I do.**

* * *

><p><strong>Part Eleven<strong>

Jim did the proper thing upon spying the terrible blankness in Spock's eyes and set about assuring his boyfriend that he was okay. Spock didn't seem to believe him so Jim pulled the man into a bathroom adjoining the sitting room that Lady Q had relegated all males to "to discuss their issues" and let Spock inspect him for himself. Jim already knew he could not stop whatever retribution Spock had planned but he hoped to stall it for at least half a day. That was then.

This is now.

Jim's stitched skin protests sharply with pain as he attempts to tug Spock's hands away from Pike's neck. Bones divides his attention between physical restraint (when did Spock become so strong?) and pleading with the lawyer not to commit murder.

Pike's coloring is not good; he sputters from a lack of oxygen and claws fruitlessly at Spock's grip like he is dying—which he obviously will do in the next minute or so if Spock doesn't let up on crushing his windpipe.

No, this is definitely not good, not good at all. So what if Jim imagined killing Pike himself only hours before? Actually watching Spock choke the life out of the man is a slap of reality. And he really would rather not have to visit his lover in prison. Leonard is saying something along those lines, intermixed with "Damn it, Spock! Let him go!" and "Holy hell, Jim, do something!"

Can't Bones see he _is _doing something? Never mind that it isn't working! Jim can't even slip a pinkie between Spock's grip and Pike's neck.

Quick thinking has always been Jim Kirk's forte. When inevitably an idea strikes him, it takes Jim only a mere second to decide it's brilliant. With an overly loud gasp, he breaks away from Spock and Pike and hugs his wounded side. His sudden dizziness (not that he would ever admit it) is not entirely feigned when he staggers backward, drops to his knees, and falls limply upon the Oriental rug with a pained groan.

The result is instantaneous: Spock stops choking Pike at the sound of Jim's distress, and Leonard wedges between the two men, forcing them to break apart, in order to throw himself at the fallen Kirk like Jim is the one dying.

_Oops, _Jim thinks, noting the genuine terror on Bones' face. He swiftly re-evaluates his plan and sees its inherent flaw.

Jim sits up, abandoning his dramatic pretense of wretched illness, to say he is okay—_no, really, Bones!_—but the doctor shoves him onto his back again with the order "Don't move, Jim!" Then he and McCoy fight valiantly for the tail of his shirt (and essentially over whether or not Leonard is allowed to look at his injury). Spock, the bastard, intervenes and pins Jim's arms to the floor so that Jim loses the battle.

The plan's flaw, it seems, has turned into an outright disaster.

Jim squirms for a moment and jokes desperately, "While this is kinky and all, Bones, can we not do this in front of Pike?"

Leonard ignores him and asks exactly how bad his pain is on a scale of one to ten.

Jim deadpans, "Zero."

The pinch of Bones' mouth says he is not amused. "You're bleeding a little—"

He is? Huh, that explains the stickiness of his bandage.

"—but that's because you've torn a stitch."

What? When did that happen?

"Goddamn it! I should have never believed that old bat of a woman when she said she knew what she was doin'! Decorated nurse in WWII, my sainted aunt. You could have serious internal injuries we don't know about, Jim!"

Another voice inserts hoarsely, "Bella had him put in the MRI first. If the scans had shown anything life-threatening, she would have flown in surgeons."

Wow, Pike's voice sounds terrible; then again, the man—though his coloring is slightly improved, turning his face less of an angry red to an angry pink—does have purple-and-black bruises forming around his neck.

Pike's statement finally sinks into Jim's brain. He gapes. "Wait, MRI? Surgeons?" What in the hell has Lady Q been doing to his unconscious body!

Leonard turns a hard stare to Pike, who is half-bent at the waist like he needs to catch his breath after a long run. "Where are they? I want to see them," the doctor demands.

Jim blinks up at Spock and whisper-pleads, "I want to go home. They scare me."

"I do not believe returning home would be wise, Jim. Allow Leonard to do his job and determine a course of treatment for you." Spock sounds so calm now, like he wasn't actively attempting homicide a few moments ago. Jim is amazed at this change and also slightly disturbed by it.

He protests "But I'm not sick!" then realizes instantly how dumb that sounds and wishes he could disappear straight through the floor, especially with the way Leonard is looking askance at him, as though the man seriously thinks Jim should undergo a serious psychological evaluation.

Despairing of his predicament (and mysteriously nauseous), Jim closes his eyes. Maybe everyone will go away if he can't see them. Maybe this is a dream, and he's actually on a beach in Honolulu with the sun warm on his skin and a gorgeous native girl serving him a fruity drink. Wouldn't Bones and Spock be envious?

Fingers brush across his cheek. "Jim?" His name sounds far, far away.

"What?" he murmurs. And oh, there's a cold breeze at the beach too, and the rumbling noise of gigantic ocean waves breaking in his ears. Or roaring, rather.

He blinks open his eyes when the roar dies down into a voice. How weird, he's floating above the ground—no, not floating. "Spock!" he says, shocked and immediately embarrassed beyond belief. "I can walk! What are you doing!"

Leonard appears in his peripheral vision. "You passed out," the man says.

"You mean I fake-passed out." Because real, _actual_ fainting was not part of Jim's brilliant idea. What is _wrong_with his stupid body?

"No," Bones corrects but says nothing more, moving ahead of Spock and Jim to talk to a surprised Q who appeared from a side door in the wide corridor. Jim glances around and over Spock's shoulder but he can't see Pike anywhere. He hopes the man stays put in the sitting room—and away from Spock—for a long while.

A tiny part of Jim admits it was gratifying to see Spock's anger manifested. Christopher Pike had played with them all to satisfy his own scheme at catching Khan, and Jim has the sick feeling Pike would have chalked up any subsequent losses to the "greater good". Bones is not a pawn to be sacrificed simply because he wants to protect someone he loves; that Pike would carelessly use McCoy that way—and tell no one about it—makes Jim's blood boil all over again. But Spock made an undeniable point with his attack, and Jim can be satisfied with that.

They—he, Spock, and McCoy—aren't to be messed with. They defend and protect each other, no matter the circumstances, and they stand united against a common enemy despite any fighting they do amongst themselves. Always.

Jim couldn't wish for a sweeter truth.

He sighs and rests his head on Spock's shoulder. He won't protest this embarrassing spectacle, not because he enjoys being carted around like a damsel in distress, but because he knows Spock needs to feel helpful when one of them is hurt. Apologies will come later, once Jim isn't so tired and Spock might be willing to accept Jim's explanation for fighting Khan's miscreants alone once things went to shit. After all, it turned out for the better, Kirk decides. Spock saved Sulu from bleeding out, Bones found Jim in time to save him, and they might, _just might _be on their way to kicking Khan out of Riverside.

In the last few months, Jim has been drugged, manipulated, attacked, lied to, betrayed, and, the cherry on top of it all, _shot _(even if it's more like grazed by a bullet, which is a damned near thing in Jim's opinion). He has felt hopeless, depressed, angry, and hurt; like a man struggling to do something as basic as breathing.

Now, quite inexplicably, he feels a break in the cloud of misery hanging over him. It's not much, really, only a small peek at a happier future, the tiniest of hopes, but it exists. And he wouldn't be James T. Kirk if he didn't latch onto it with all the joy and determination he could muster.

Khan has played his hand and failed. Jim thinks he is more than overdue for a turn at this twisted game they are immersed in. He may not know what he intends to do yet but once he figures it out, there will nothing which can stand in his way and stop him from winning.

_Gonna get you, "Khan," _he mutters. Someone strokes his cheek in response.

Noises, like the opening and closing of doors.

"Put him on the bed, Spock. He'll sleep through the night, I think."

"He should be at a hospital."

Bones and Spock talking, Jim dreams.

"Khan owns the only hospital in this region, and he'll be hunting for us. Jim's all right, Spock. This is just his body's mechanism for coping with the blood loss. Still, I'll take a look at the MRI scans to be certain."

Silence, but not prolonged.

"Leonard."

"I know. I'm sorry too. There are pajamas in the dresser if you want to sleep here."

"I will wait for you."

The voices fade in and out, growing soft and formless. Jim sinks into a tangle of dreams: Khan, Leonard, and Spock; a mad-hatter named Lady Q, and woman's voice that sounds oddly like his mother's.

* * *

><p>This is the second time Jim has woken up in the Q compound to a surprise he did not expect. However, Lady Q isn't the person humming at his bedside or stroking his hair. He blinks to dispel the dream but Winona Kirk doesn't vanish. She smiles at him.<p>

"I stayed in labor for twenty-two hours," she says, voice soft, and Jim's eyes widen because only his mother would begin a conversation with this particular line. "By the last five minutes of it, I thought I'd die if I didn't birth you right then and there, and I prayed, oh how I prayed, you would stop being so stubborn and come out already."

Jim closes his eyes again, listening.

"It's like you heard me, baby, and a couple of minutes later you were born. The nurse took you up and when you didn't start to cry, we all thought the worst. I said a lot of things I didn't mean while in labor, Jimmy, but the worst of it was cursing your father for dying and leaving me alone to raise you. Then you came into the world and you were so silent and I hated myself for even thinking such a thing because you were a gift, a part of George I'd always have, and if you died _too_... I screamed until they handed you over." She laughs a little but it sounds watery. "I think they thought I was going to climb out of the bed to get to you, which I very well might have if the nurse hadn't put you in my arms. You didn't make a sound, quiet as a little mouse, but I felt you breathing and I started to cry because I was so grateful. That's when you started crying too."

He opens his eyes and reaches up to brush away a tear from her cheek.

Love fills Winona's voice as she finishes her tale. "That was the first time I wondered if we had a special connection, that maybe you somehow knew when I was upset and reacted to it."

"I do know when you're upset," he says softly. He'd never really thought about it as more than intuition. How uncanny, that it might have started from the moment of his birth.

"Likewise, I know when something is wrong with you," Winona says. "Do you remember that time you broke your wrist when you fell in your grandfather's barn?"

He nods and his wrist aches in memory, despite that he had been very, very young when it happened.

"I was standing in the kitchen at home, hands in a sink full of soapy water and dishes, when a terrible feeling came over me. I just knew it had to be you. A bad feeling and you, all mixed up."

Jim stares at her, surprised. His wrist had hurt horribly but he had been afraid to tell anybody because he knew he shouldn't have climbed to the loft in the first place. Then, as a six year-old Jimmy was trying to figure out how to hide his injury, his mother had shown up out of nowhere, yelling for him. It had seemed natural to go to her when she sounded panicked, so he had and the rest was history. That she was there _because _he had been hurt had not ever crossed his mind.

"It still happens to me, that same awful sense of dread every time you're in trouble." Her smile is a touch bitter. "I knew, deep down, I shouldn't have let you stay at the diner that night. _I knew it_, but you were so stubborn and certain and—look at you now, Jim."

He can't help but groan. "Mom, is this a lecture? Are you seriously lecturing me while I'm bedridden?"

"What better time, darling, than when you can't run away?" But her eyes hold his, implore him to understand. "My point is simple. I know when you're hurt, which inevitably upsets me, and you don't like it when I'm upset. Why don't we both agree to do our best not to frighten one another?"

"But it's not my fault," he mutters at the duvet covering his legs.

"Of course it isn't," Winona agrees, "but you're very accident-prone."

He almost pokes out his bottom lip but quickly remembers he is an adult and not a pouting boy. "It's not an accident when someone is out to get you, Mom."

"Well, then I would have to admit you attract trouble on a regular basis and how would that reflect on my parenting skills?" Winona tucks the covers around his shoulders. "Shall I let Spock and Leonard come in now? Are you still sleepy? Are you hungry?"

He brightens at the prospect of food. "Can I have waffles?"

Winona purses her mouth thoughtfully. "I suppose I could invade the kitchen..."

"And maple syrup," Jim reminds her because sugary syrup is the most important ingredient in any breakfast. To round out the menu, he tacks on, "With blueberries, too—not on the waffles, yuck, but _in _them, Mom. And some orange juice, that'd be great, thanks!" He lays back on his pillows and blinks sweetly at her.

She sighs with an exasperated fondness. "Let me see what I can do, Jimmy. Now be good and stay in bed until your doctor says otherwise."

He waits a full five seconds after she slips out of his bedroom door before throwing back the duvet and bed sheets and shuffling in the direction of the bathroom. Unfortunately, on the heels of his mother's departure, comes Bones—who immediately jumps down his throat about moving around.

Jim rolls his eyes as he flicks on the bathroom light. "I have great aim, Bones, but even I can't reach the toilet from the bed." He shuts the door on Leonard's stunned silence and proceeds to relieve his full bladder and, upon spotting a toothbrush and toothpaste that looks suspiciously like his from his apartment bathroom, brushes his teeth, glad to be rid of the icky feeling in his mouth.

Leonard is leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door when Jim comes out.

"Did you piss blood?" his boyfriend asks immediately.

"Gee, we have the sexiest conversations" is Jim's dry reply. "And no, I didn't."

"Let me look at your stitches."

"No thanks."

"It wasn't a request, Jim."

Leonard unceremoniously unties the belt of the robe Jim found in the bathroom and pushes it aside. While the doctor goes about carefully peeling away Jim's fresh bandage to peek at his wound, Jim's hand un-tucks Leonard's shirt from his pants.

Leonard pauses to ask, "What are you doing?"

Ah, the old tongue-in-cheek, the kind of reply Jim is always good at: "I thought we were undressing each other."

Leonard removes Jim's hand from where it had wandered inside his shirt to stroke the smooth skin over his ribs. "Sorry, Jim, no sex for you for at least two weeks."

"_Excuse me?_"

"You heard what I said."

Jim's mouth needs a moment to start working again. "Fine. Whatever. Spock'll put out if you won't."

Leonard smirks. "I already told him to keep his hands to himself—or simply me—until you're healed."

Jim falls back onto the bed with an exaggerated flop of limbs. "I'll die!"

"Don't be such a baby. Nobody's ever died from abstinence."

"But I'm not a monk, Bones! I have _needs_—healthy, sexual, adult needs!"

Leonard pokes at his thigh with a warning finger. "If I find out you've even so much as put your hand down your pants, Jim, I will stick you in a chastity belt."

Jim lifts his head to look at his boyfriend, wide-eyed. "Are you—" He wets his dry lips. "—are you sure we're talking about the same thing? Like as in 'no sex until I die of frustration' or 'lots and lots of sex involving a chastity belt'?"

Leonard pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm not going to ask. Really, I'm not." He turns toward the door. "Spock wants to see you."

"Is Spock going to wear a chastity belt too?"

"Shut up, Jim."

"But I have this great idea—!"

Though Leonard walks away, Jim can tell by the man's stalk he isn't unaffected by the hints of Jim's dirty imagination. Jim drops his head back to his pillow and grins at the ceiling. Score one for James Kirk; McCoy, zero. It won't be long before Jim's enforced two weeks of sex-less activities devolves into a much shorter period of time. He likes to think he is that good.

Minutes later, Spock easily plucks Jim's hand away from his belt. "I have been duly informed you will try to seduce me. I am to resist."

Jim smiles lazily at Spock and motions to himself. "How can you possibly resist all of this, Spock?"

"Your hair, if you must know, is not visually attractive after your extended period of rest. Would you care for a comb, Jim?"

_Spock, you dog. What a low blow!_

Jim growls wordlessly and chucks a pillow at the lawyer's head, which Spock catches with ease and plumps before replacing it next to Jim again. He studies Jim's mutinous face some seconds before leaning in. "I do not believe," the man murmurs as he closes the distance between them, "Leonard will classify a kiss as detrimental to your person."

Let it never be said Jim doesn't know how to make full use of an opening like that.

"Don't let me interrupt," Leonard remarks, amused, as he re-enters the bedroom carrying a tray with a glass of orange juice.

Jim tears his mouth from Spock's with reluctance. "We were—just—kissing," he explains between gulps of air. "Not leading-to-sex kissing, I swear, Bones! Though, I think, that'd be awesome..." He pauses and decides not to press his luck.

Leonard is smiling as he hands Jim the drink. "I don't know how you do it, kid, but you always manage to get your way."

Jim's eyes light up. "So does this mean—?"

"No," his boyfriend says, "but it _does _mean you can kiss me too, if you want." Leonard ends the sentence almost quietly.

Jim places his glass on a side table, untouched. "C'mere, Bones." His voice is husky with understanding. "We have some catching up to do."

"I will guard the door," Spock offers.

"You can join us," Leonard points out as Jim scoots over to make a space for him on the bed.

"Would you prefer to be caught by Jim's mother, who I assume sent the orange juice to Jim, or perhaps Lady Q?"

Jim shudders. "I vote Spock watches for intruders."

"Agreed," Bones seconds.

"Very well." Spock gracefully slips to his feet and strides toward the sitting room. Jim wastes no time in reaching for McCoy.

* * *

><p>They make out with a few tender kisses and then are content to lie together on the bed. Jim is somewhat drowsy when his stomach decides to protest an hour of endured waffle-less-ness. Leonard's hand lightly and carefully strokes his belly as he comments on its noisy grumbling. "Should I find you something to eat?"<p>

"Mom's making me waffles."

"Excuse me for saying so, Jim, but she's takin' her damned time about it, don't you think?"

He muses absently, "I wonder where she is." It hadn't really struck him until now that she is _inside _the Q compound. Has she ever been here before?

There is a light warning knock against the door then Spock slips into the room. He doesn't hesitate to tell Kirk and McCoy, "There may be a problem which requires Jim's attention."

Leonard sits up. "What do you mean?"

"One of the servants approached me, distraught. He claims..." This time Spock does hesitate. "...Lady Q and Jim's mother are at war."

Jim cannot take that in without a mental fumble. Bones doesn't seem to fare any better either, as he says, "What? You mean Winona made Lady Q angry?"

Spock gives them a meaningful look. "I suspect quite the opposite, Leonard—it was Lady Q who incited Winona's rage."

"Oh God," Leonard says with conviction.

Spock and McCoy turn to Jim.

He clutches at his bedcovers. "Hey, why are you looking at me like that? I'm sick!"

"Jim, I think this is an emergency." Leonard tugs the sheet out of Jim's hands while Spock searches for Jim's pants.

He whimpers. Fire is an emergency. Two Titans clashing—especially a Kirk and a Q—is Armageddon. How is Jim supposed to stop that?

No. It's not his problem. He could easily die in the crossfire! Don't his boyfriends realize this?

There is another rapid tap upon the door and a pale face wearing wire-rimmed glasses cautiously peeks around its edge. The servant Q says, anxious, "Sirs, her Ladyship has issued a call to arms."

Jim sits up. "WHAT?"

But the Q's anxiety only amplifies as he enlightens them of the dire situation: "She Who Shall Not Be Named has thwarted her Ladyship's personal attempts to reach the armory. They were last seen in the courtyard, whereupon the Captain attempted parley between the hostiles and was smote upon the cobblestones for his insolent interference, and then She Who Shall Not Be Named insulted the honor of all Q. Incensed, her Ladyship procured his Lordship's favored rapier—"

Jim has long-since scrambled out of the bed and is shoving his legs into a pair of pants. His shirt goes on backwards and inside-out but he doesn't care. He isn't the only one cursing aloud.

"—and She Who Shall Not Be Named, keeper of the young master's katana—"

Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit. Well, now he knows what happened to Sulu's beloved sword.

"—accepted a duel to the death, wagering the fate of one James Tiberius Kirk."

Nobody yells at Jim for running with a stitched gash in his side because Bones and Spock are hot on his heels. That all of the Q they come in contact with, or pass by in their headlong flight, look intensely afraid only serves to send Jim's fear spiraling to new heights. He hurtles into a courtyard lined with Q servants in various states of abject terror just as Lady Q cries, "I warn ye, wife of the Late Captain Kirk! I will not relent until ye perish beneath my blade or forfeit thy son!"

"You'll never take Jimmy, you frilly sack of bones!" Wind whips Winona's unbound hair, making her look wild and young.

"He is a Q as his father before him!" Lady Q declares and swings her rapier madly.

Jim's mother dodges it, her lithe figure dancing aside, and raises Sulu's katana to chest level with a frightening ease. "You may have owned my husband's life," she growls at the old woman, "but you will not have my son's!"

And thus the battle for James Tiberius Kirk begins in earnest while Jim looks on in nervous horror.


	13. Part Twelve

**This fic will be finished before my birthday in early May. So about another month? Also, I am taking song suggestions for a fanmix of the Riverside 'verse. Please PM me (or email, if you prefer) if there is a song you think would fit any of the characters, storyline, etc! Now onto the fic.**

* * *

><p><strong>Part Twelve<strong>

"Jim!"

The man in question moans and refuses to open his eyes. Were he to give any indication he might be alive... As if hearing those morose thoughts, something pointy and sharp pokes his shoulder.

"Is he dead?"

"Get back, you crazy soda cracker," a Bones-voice snarls. "Give the man some breathing room! Jim—Jim, can you hear me?"

Of course Jim can hear him; Bones is practically shouting in his ear. But he is afraid to acknowledge that he still exists lest circumstances worsen. Not that Jim thinks his life could become any more insane or dire, unless Lady Q was to run him through with her deceased husband's rapier, as she so unsuccessfully attempted to do during her last lunge. "Worse" is always a distinct possibility in the presence of the Q.

A new voice joins Bones'. "Oh, Jimmy," it says, "I'm so sorry."

He is incapable of ignoring that regretful tone. He opens his eyes to look at his mother.

"Are you all right?" she asks upon seeing him awake and aware.

Jim touches his forehead, surprised when his fingers don't come away bloody. "Um, yes?" He had thought for certain he would be bleeding. Maybe he wasn't clobbered that hard?

Leonard helps Jim sit up and Spock shifts behind him to prop his upper torso, though Jim doesn't feel he is so injured he might fall over again. Still, the warmth of Spock's presence at his back is a familiar comfort. This is when Jim realizes Bones is lecturing the two women presently hovering in the background, both of whom look exceedingly like contrite children.

"—already has a head injury and I'll be damned if I let you two compound his trauma!"

"Bones..." Jim tries to interrupt but is steadfastly ignored by the doctor.

"Look at what your histrionics did!" Leonard scowls at Lady Q. Jim suspects his boyfriend might not be brave enough to direct his scowl at Winona Kirk.

"_Bones_."

"Now drop those blasted weapons before somebody else dies!"

Jim sighs. "I'm not dead."

Leonard turns his glare to Jim. "It was a damned near thing, Jim!"

"I wouldn't be lucky enough to die," Jim says mournfully as he inspects a scraped elbow. "But it would be nice if everyone agreed not to attack me. I'm beginning to think there is a bull's eye on my back I can't see."

Lady Q is all indignation. "How ludicrous! You were not attacked, James. Had you sense enough not to insinuate yourself into the middle of my war, you would not have become a casualty of it."

Leonard's mutter sounds like _truer words never spoken. _Jim kicks the man's shin (by accident, of course) and immediately turns his gaze to his mother because, of the two women, she has the most common sense. He hopes he comes across as shocked and wounded when he accuses, "You hit me."

Her eyes drop to Sulu's katana guiltily. "I didn't mean to, baby."

Jim rubs at the bridge of his nose where her head had smacked him when he tried to disarm her of her weapon. He whines to Bones, "Is it broken?"

Without ceremony, the doctor reaches over, thumps the side of his sore nose and declares, "Course it ain't, kid. Don't be such a baby."

"But you just said they could have—"

"Just because I'm mad at them doesn't mean I sympathize with you. Of all the fool things to do, Jim, getting between two women with swords—"

Jim sinks into Spock, who obligingly wraps one long arm around Jim's middle, and protests, "You're the one who said I had to break up the fight."

Leonard sputters. "I meant talk 'em down!"

"Since when does talking accomplish anything with _her_?" He flicks his eyes pointedly in Lady Q's direction. Taking Leonard's silence as an admission of defeat, Jim adds cheerfully, "Besides, they stopped fighting, right?"

Leonard stares at him for a long moment. "Is this a new tactic?"

"Is what a new tactic?"

"Getting yourself hurt so everybody'll focus on you instead of each other?"

"Was I doing that?" He smiles.

Leonard's expression is more exasperated than amused. He uses Jim's shoulder as a leverage to climb to his feet and Jim mock-complains about how much weight Bones has put on. Jim himself is summarily reeled into a standing position by Winona, who is determined to apologize for head-butting him with a bone-crushing hug. When she pulls away, he grins at her and whispers, "You were awesome, Mom."

Her grin matches his.

Lady Q, apparently, is not pleased to see the Kirks looking so smug. "I demand a rematch!"

Winona narrows her eyes, and Jim instinctively wraps her up in his arms again—a gesture which is more imprisoning than it is meant to be pleasant. He mouths over her shoulder to Spock, "Can you handle that one?"

Spock straightens to his full height (which is quite impressive) and sounds his most gentlemanly when he begins to coax the flustered Lady Q indoors. Jim isn't quite sure what the lawyer says that entices Lady Q to lower her rapier but in another minute she is ambling through a crowd of staring Q spectators latched upon Spock's arm and seemingly content with the world.

Only later, as Jim is stuffed into a velvet blue doublet that buttons up to his chin and a pair of musty leather pants, does he realize Spock blithely sacrificed his boyfriend's dignity in exchange for Lady Q's white flag of surrender. Spock had said to the old woman something along the lines of "Fighting for favor is unnecessary when Jim shall always be an honorary Q, Madame. Jim accepts his duty to you, as I accept my duty to him. Allow him to make reparations for this misunderstanding in a manner more salutary for all."

Playing escort to Lady Q is _not _salutary, Jim decides in another two hours. It's not even a sane thing to do. Yet somehow he finds himself on a promenade with one very cheerful, very talkative Lady Q as he holds a white frilly umbrella over their heads while they take a turn through a section of exotic gardens upon the campus grounds. When she is finally ready to return to her rooms—another hour after that—she says to Jim as they pause under a trellis of roses and ivy vines, "You realize, of course, I would never have harmed your mother, James. She may not be as dear to me as your father was but I do admire her strong character. Also, she birthed you, for which she shall always have my utmost respect. Do not take our tiff to heart, dearest."

Jim, with toes miserably pinched in his Captain's boots and brain weary of the repetition of the word 'forthwith', can only nod dumbly. He will never mention he believes his mother would have won the duel had he not intervened and been smacked in face by Winona (on accident) and then immediately clonked on the head by the hilt of Lady Q's rapier (which had to have been on purpose since the old woman had yelled "Tally ho, all ye traitors must die!").

Lady Q pinches his cheek. "What a discerning young man you are! Come. We shall journey to the salon forthwith and discuss intellectual arts over biscuits and tea."

Jim tugs at the constraining collar of his doublet. "I really should change..."

"Oh no!" she cries. "I was promised by Mr. Spock we would have the _entire_ day to spend _in flagrante delicto_. He is so generous, your Mr. Spock. One would not think a man of such standing as he would allow his lover to be seen in another's company unattended... though his _second_paramour will help wile away the time while you are absent." She smiles to herself. "The culture is fascinating, is it not, when a man has multiple wives to fill his household."

Jim's face is flaming by the time she stops talking. "I—I'm not Spock's—" Harem boy? He chokes on the thought.

"Ah, you must be a very misbehaving wife." Her eyes twinkle mischievously as she guides him through the archway. "Shall we be naughty together, James?"

He can't shake off her clinging grip. "Uh, speaking of... duties, I think I have a curfew."

"But you haven't let me tell you the details of my plan!"

"I'm a _good _wife," he squeaks. "No plans please!"

Lady Q lets go of him, looking crestfallen. Even the fan in her hand seems to droop in dejection. Jim means to back away and run for his life but her sad expression is more effective than her crazy one. Like a fly diving headfirst into a spider's trap, he sighs and asks, "Okay, what is it?"

Her fan whips back into action, and she shuffle-bounces into his personal space until they are nose-to-nose. "It is a _marvelous _idea, my boy! First, we shall need a chariot of inordinate size, a person with experience in triathlon events—do you suppose the good Captain Pike has sufficiently recovered his wits to be of aid?—and, oh, I do believe I know where to find a soothsayer at such a strange hour..."

Jim raises a hand to stem her excited chatter. "Wait, I need to know..."

Lady Q pauses to listen.

"What are the odds of me dying?"

Her entire countenance brightens like a sun. "If you are well-trained in the gladiatorial arts, I anticipate you shall have an equally fair chance at life or death!"

The twinge in his stomach must be due to the prunes he was forced to consume, he thinks. "And if I'm not well-trained?"

Lady Q turns toward an entrance to the compound, her voluminous skirts swishing softly against the stone path as she walks. Jim is expected to follow.

"Then the lion may very well eat you, my dear."

* * *

><p>"She wants you to <em>what?<em>"

"Fight a lion," Jim repeats as he wrenches at a tiny button almost invisible against his white shirt. "We already picked out a spear."

Jim moves his fingers away as Leonard takes over fighting with the stubborn button, wins, and then moves on to unbutton the rest of Jim's shirt. Leonard says as he works, "Have you ever wondered if this place might actually be an asylum?"

Jim blinks. "I thought it was. Like a place for all Q so they don't have to deal with the world."

"I meant an insane asylum," Leonard explains dryly. "So the world doesn't have to deal with _them_, rather than the other way around."

Jim thinks on that for a moment. "If that's true, then we might have a problem."

"Oh?"

"Scotty comes here during his college breaks to work. Does that make him an addition to the nuthouse?" Jim catches Leonard's hand as it drops away and rubs the man's knuckles with his thumb. "Bones."

His boyfriend frowns at him. "What?"

"I need you to talk to Spock for me."

"I thought we were discussin' Scotty."

"Another problem for another day. Please?"

Leonard looks interested. "What's he done?"

Jim hedges, "Lady Q was rambling, you know, which she does a lot, like that time with the fleet of ships she wanted to purchase on my behalf—"

"Jim," Leonard says impatiently, "get to your point."

"I think she likes Spock too much." He winces. That didn't come out right. "I mean, she _listens _to him—which is something she never does when I say 'no' or 'that's crazy' or 'I don't wear costumes'. If he has the kind of influence over her that we don't, shouldn't he... ask her to help us?"

"With Khan." Leonard's mouth thins even as he says the name.

Jim runs a hand through his hair. "Yes. No. Not just Khan. He's a big part of what's wrong, but I meant with other things too. The Q, their group—they have money. Money is power. If Riverside was backed by that kind of power, men like Khan wouldn't risk targeting us. The Q supposedly have a no-interference policy but when _hasn't _Lady Q been involved in our business? I can't figure her out—and I want a straight answer for once, not a riddle."

Leonard settles a hand on his shoulder. "You always want the impossible, Jim. But why can't you ask Spock to tackle the crazy world of the Q yourself?"

"I could," Jim admits, "but I thought it would give you an excuse to speak to him."

There are a few seconds of silence. Leonard doesn't remove his hand from Jim's shoulder and, instead, tightens his grip in a show of understanding. He says too lightly, "You noticed."

"Yes." Jim adds, "He forgives you and you know that—but I don't think you believe it quite yet, Bones."

Leonard slumps slightly. "I've seen Spock mad. Hell, I didn't think he could get any madder than the moment the judge denied my petition for custody of Joanna based on superficial evidence. But this is... more personal than that, I think. Jim," he says sorrowfully, "I didn't mean to mess things up so badly."

Jim leans in, purposefully tilts McCoy's face up, and touches his mouth to Leonard's for brief moment before pulling away. "Next time you won't. We'll keep no secrets from each other."

Leonard doesn't look as relieved as Jim had hoped he would be. "Secrets are a part of human nature."

"There's a difference between private thoughts and secrets. Why should there be something you're afraid to tell us?"

"Are you saying you tell me everything?"

"I'm saying we'll do better in the future, you and Spock and I. I don't want to lose what we have because some asshole likes to play games, Bones. If we give up on us, it shouldn't be because Khan wants it or because Pike thinks he knows best. I won't live a life orchestrated by others. It has to be on my own terms, made from my mistakes and whatever risks _I _choose to take."

Leonard tugs him close again and rests their foreheads together. "I'm not as brave as you are, Jim," he murmurs. "I hide when things get tough—" His chuckle is a forced low rumble between them. "—like coming to Riverside. Shoulda known somebody like you'd find me."

"'Course you are brave, Bones," Jim argues gently. "Otherwise you wouldn't have agreed to help Pike, or defied Khan, or put up with all of the crazy shit that happens to me on a regular basis."

Leonard's laughter is more genuine this time. "You do attract trouble, Jim."

"I thought I explained that to you when we first met: I don't find trouble—it finds _me_."

"You just keep on believing that, darlin'."

Leonard kisses him, and Jim cannot be troubled to disagree.

* * *

><p>Leaning against the stone balustrade of the terrace adjacent his bedroom, Jim is wondering how he and his family can sneak out of the Q compound without being caught when a flurry of activity captures Jim's attention. In the distance, a Q in a livery outfit scurries through the open walkway separating a large courtyard into two identical halves, only halting to have a rapid-fire discussion with three other Q before he continues in haste to wherever his destination may be.<p>

Jim is under orders (Bones' orders, that is, as no one else could force Kirk into acquiescence as Bones can) to stay in his room until any of the following happens: one, his wounded side and his concussion heal; two, someone convinces Lady Q to give up on her quest for reintroducing ancient Roman attractions into the twenty-first century; or three, they find a means of escape back to civilization. Jim is working on the latter since he surmises neither of the former options will happen in the next day or so.

Two more Q appear along the walkway, headed in the same direction at the same hurried pace. Since Q don't run (unless their Ladyship is about to start a war in the middle of their commune), Jim's frightening imagination is left to supply a reason for this unusual event. He peeks over his shoulder—Bones is nowhere in sight—then decidedly swings his left leg over the balustrade and begins the tedious climb to the ground. He drops behind a row of prickly bushes (thankfully not _in_ them, which has happened before and was quite an unpleasant affair) and skirts a wall until he is at the edge of the half-circle of the courtyard. As he is about to step onto the walkway, someone approaches and Jim quickly ducks into an oak's long shadow. To be seen is tantamount to a beheading once Bone is alerted Jim is not where he is supposed to be, and Jim has no doubt those in Lady Q's employ will tattle to his doctor.

As if the people are being conjured, another Q, this time female, crosses from the opposite side of the courtyard and joins the not-quite-running Q in his swift trek down the walkway. They greet each other with a few words and mirroring looks of trepidation. Jim is not above eavesdropping, particularly in an enemy's den, so he strains to hear what he can of their conversation.

It goes something like this:

"—approached the gates without warning. We must prepare."

"I dispatched Q to notify her Ladyship of the new arrival. Where has the... guest been taken?"

"To the antechamber of his late Lordship's study in the Westling Hall."

"Place guards along the entryways. He must be not allowed to roam freely until Her Ladyship comes to a decision."

The grave implications of the quick and quiet discussion floats to Jim like leaves drifting on a breeze, causing him to shiver with sudden dread. The calf muscles in his legs contract on instinct, as though poised for flight. What kind of guest could possibly alarm the normally aloof Q?

Jim waits until the pair of Q are gone from sight before sneaking into the now-empty walkway. His brain searches for the mental map he thought he had of the compound but he is unable to recall the location of the Westling Hall. Maybe it is a name they use only among themselves? It doesn't matter, though. The Q will be heading in the proper direction in droves and all Jim has to do is follow the obvious trail.

He is, unfortunately, not as furtive as he imagines himself to be. Though Jim is determined to find the source of the Q's disturbance (either by luck, stealth, or wheedling), he does not account for the reaction of the Q upon finding him in their midst in a large, fully occupied hall. To say they freeze in place would not be an exaggeration. Jim pokes the nearest Q in the arm.

"Hey. What's going on?"

The Q could be a statue, forever immortalized with a last look of surprise (and a hint of fear?) upon his face. He does not even twitch.

Then someone gasps, coming back to life, and as if a spell has been broken, everyone springs into action. Jim is grabbed by two broad-shouldered Q, one at each arm, and a female Q in a severally shapeless black dress whispers furiously, "Remove him! Quickly! He must not be seen!"

Jim protests being hauled backwards. He is ignored and summarily dragged into a side room. But before the door shuts, he hears a voice he recognizes well, despite its imperiously cold tone.

"Where is the guest?"

A Q answers. "He awaits an audience, your Ladyship." A hesitation. "Shall I escort you?"

"That will not be necessary, Q," Lady Q says. "I do not fear this Khan Noonien Singh."

Jim's heart beats once, twice, and then he manages to ask, "Khan's _here_?"

But the Q holding onto him do not speak; nor do they let him go. Jim takes this as confirmation and does the only thing he can think of. He sags in their grip until they mistakenly assume he has passed out or is terribly ill then slams his elbow into one Q's jaw and sweeps the legs out from under the other Q. Neither Q catches Jim in time to stop him from jerking open the door to the room. He barrels into the hall, stops dead upon spying Lady Q paused in the middle of a guard detail of Q, and demands in a way Lady Q cannot claim not to understand, "I have the right to face my enemy!"

Lady Q waves away any extraneous Q standing between her and Jim who might intervene. "Ah, Captain Kirk. Doctor McCoy remarked earlier you were not well and would not be available this evening."

Jim steps forward. "I want to talk to Khan." And he does, though he might do more talking with his fists than his mouth. The _bastard._

"And so you shall," she answers serenely. "But, first, please allow me to impress upon Mr. Singh the gravity of his situation."

"What are you talking about?"

Her smile is deceptively slight. "He is here to negotiate, of course. For his men."

His... men?

_His men_.

How could Jim have forgotten? The Q had not only rescued Jim and McCoy, they had _apprehended _Khan's hired killers. What was it the Q in the hat had said that night? Something about neutralizing both parties.

Jim closes the rest of the distance between himself and Lady Q. "What's your plan?" he wants to know, this time unafraid to ask.

"Do you trust me, James?"

His nod is curt.

"Then wait here until I call for you." Lady Q's eyes glitter in the bright lighting of the wide hallway. "And when I do call for you, come prepared to face your enemy with the knowledge that no man on this Earth can match you upon a battlefield. You are James Tiberius Kirk, son of George and Winona Kirk, brethren of the Q, and a fellow man of righteousness and justice. You are _undefeatable_."

She should sound crazy. He should be crazy to believe her but something in her speech strikes a chord deep within him. Jim finds himself nodding in agreement (or perhaps in thanks), and Lady Q smiles at him. Then, with quiet, regal bearing, she turns and enters a room. Neither Jim nor the Q follow her.

* * *

><p>It is often said that a man of famous origins, of strong will and of noble character can still be a fool. Though he may be certain of his own measure and he may feel ready to meet those enemies who would stand against him, this action only accounts for one side of a coin. He must also consider: how is the enemy prepared to face <em>him<em>?

Jim Kirk is simultaneously edgy with nerves and buoyed by the faith others place in him. A part of him longs to take Khan by surprise and demand his surrender single-handedly; another part of him wishes to be surrounded by friends and family, to show Khan that united Riverside cannot be so easily cowed into submission and assimilated into Khan's petty games. Torn between warring desires, he paces a short path across the hallway before turning sharply on his heel and pacing in the opposite direction, only to repeat the motion.

He thinks of all the things he longs to say and, if briefly, imagines a moment where he places Khan under arrest and parades the tyrant before a sea of applauding reporters.

He does not wonder what might be happening between Lady Q and Khan at that very moment. And because he does not wonder, he is startled when a Q flies into the hall, wide-eyed and sweating and babbling of _the prisoners' escape!_ and _traitors!_ and _find her Ladyship!_ The two Q guarding the door through which Lady Q had disappeared silently communicate a sense of alarm in a matter of seconds before wrenching open the door and diving into the room without invitation. Jim, confused by what is happening, thinks of Khan (_escape? but how when Khan is right here in Westling Hall?_) and pelts toward the room, only to be shoved aside as a crowd of Q forms in front of the doorway. Voices ebb and flow, some hushed, others echoing commands to establish order. Jim tries ineffectually to worm his way through the chaos.

Then the cry comes and a Q shoves _out _of the room, past everyone and straight into Jim. His face is bloodless. When he wobbles, making a soundless noise, Jim grabs the man to keep him upright.

"What's happened? Where's Khan?" Jim demands.

"Her Ladyship—" The Q falters as another cry rises above the voices, the news already spreading. He clutches at Jim. Jim realizes then the man is staining his shirt with distinctive red handprints and he recoils, feeling his own blood drain from his head.

The Q shudders and finishes, keening, "Sir, she is dead! Khan has murdered the Lady Q!"


	14. Part Thirteen

**Title**: Sticks and Stones (14/?)  
><strong>Author<strong>: klmeri  
><strong>Fandom<strong>: Star Trek AOS  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Kirk/Spock/McCoy  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Sequel to Many Bells Down; Riverside 'verse AU. Khan is hell-bent on destroying everything and everyone James Kirk cares about until Jim surrenders the most important person of all—himself.

* * *

><p><strong>There is more Riverside 'verse story! If you have not read it yet, please take the time to enjoy an one-shot called The Anniversary, set after Along Comes a Stranger and before the Khan-fiasco began in Many Bells Down. <strong>

**Part Thirteen**

Leonard stalks toward Jim with the obvious intention of reaming him for busting out of his bedroom and ignoring doctor's orders; he seems oblivious to the general panicked milling of the Q in his single-minded focus to get to Jim. Therefore Jim takes it upon himself to enlighten his fiery-eyed boyfriend of current events (thereby stall Leonard's tantrum and Jim's impending demise) as dramatically as he can. Of course, Jim isn't entirely faking the drama—because a dead Lady Q is certainly dramatic news enough to send him careening into a shocked panic like everybody else.

"Bones!" He flings himself at his boyfriend and takes a hold of McCoy's shoulders.

"Jim, I told you—!"

"I had to find out what they were up to, and then Khan was here, Lady Q went in _there_—" He stabs a finger at the doorway where several Q are collapsed in a circle and keening. For a near-silent community of people, they can be very loud when they want to be. "—and then he escaped, somehow she's _dead_," Jim babbles, "and holy FUCK, why is this Q still attached to my leg?" The grieving Q only tightens his hold on Jim's limb when Jim tries to shake him off. At any other time, he would be comforting the man but there's something not quite right about this whole scenario—like how the Q seems to be preventing Jim from seeing the state of Lady Q for himself by making Jim drag him bodily across the floor.

Some part of Jim's rapid-fire speech catches Leonard's attention. "Did you say _dead_?"

Jim points at his shirt, stained red with Lady Q's life's blood. "Apparently. Which makes me glad you are here, Bones." He half-turns and bellows over the pandemonium, "Doctor McCoy wishes to inspect the body!"

Sudden silence fills Westling Hall, barring a sniffle or two. The Q unwinds from Jim's leg and sits up. "That is not possible, sir." he says. "It i-is _sacrilegious _for a non-Q to view the body of her Ladyship."

Jim crosses his arms. "Then I'll just have to believe she's alive. In fact," he pitches his voice ominously, "I think you're _lying _to me. Am I right, Q?" Leonard's brows draw together in confusion. He even admits, "I'm confused. Is Lady Q dead or not?"

The Q on the floor retrieves a white handkerchief from his pocket and delicately blows his nose. After a moment, he murmurs, eyes cutting around the hall at the other Q, "Sir, I assure you her Ladyship is no longer among the living."

"You are a terrible actor," Jim says, sounding much too pleasant. He dabs at the red stain on his shirt and then licks his finger. "Mmm, raspberry. Or strawberry jam. I can't decide." He holds his finger out to Bones. "What do you think?"

"I think I'm confused as hell, Jim. Why are there handprints of jam on your shirt?"

"Why is the Q pretending it's blood?" Jim counters. He returns his gaze at the Q, eyes hard despite his tone. "You're obviously an amateur when it comes to faking a death—you and Lady Q both. Now... WHAT. THE. FUCK. IS. GOING. ON?"

"Sir," the Q begins nervously.

"WHERE IS KHAN?"

The Q sucks in a deep breath—and, with a cry, prostrates himself over Jim's shoes. "Forgive me, Captain Kirk!"

Jim tamps down on a flare of temper. He hauls the Q off his shoes before turning to Bones. "Come with me." Meaning, _let's find the truth for ourselves._

None of the Q attempt to intervene as he moves to the door of the room where the act of murder was supposedly committed. However, when he pushes the door open, one of the bodyguard Q within the room immediately steps into his path.

Jim smiles. "Move, mister."

"You are forbidden from entering this—"

"Oh, it's quite all right, Q. Let him pass."

Jim steps around the bodyguard and focuses on the woman at the other end of the room, perched in a high-backed Victorian chair eating strawberry jam and wafers. Lady Q waves her butter knife at Jim in greeting. "I see I've been caught in my fib, dearest. Would you like a cookie?"

"You..." Jim clenches and unclenches his fists, unable to say the word on the tip of his tongue.

His boyfriend seems to think manners should have long-since been tossed out of the window. "Are you kidding me? _Son of a bitch! _ What the hell is the matter with you! You can't play _games _about life and death!" he roars.

Lady Q very carefully sets down her butter knife and stares at Leonard. "I do not appreciate your tone, Doctor McCoy. How dare you speak to me in that way!"

Jim steps in front of Bones. "Oh, he dares, Lady Q—and I agree with him. What was the purpose of your charade? To make me believe Khan had killed you? To provoke me into revenge? Or is this purely for your amusement at our expense?"

Lady Q says nothing. Then there is commotion at the door. The bodyguard, after listening to a series of knocks, allows a newcomer entrance to the room. A Q who bows before Lady Q. "Your Ladyship, the traitor has been apprehended."

"And the others?"

"Captured once again and restored to the holding room."

"Excellent. Bring the man here. We have... matters to discuss." When the Q is gone, she turns her impassive gaze to Jim. "You accuse me of an act petty and selfish in nature, James Tiberius Kirk. Yes, deception was the intent of my _charade_, but it was for a purpose known only to a few but beneficial to many. In a moment you shall see the reward of such a scheme... and I hope it convinces you that I am less a fool than you perceive me to be."

Jim is uncertain what to make of her explanation so he asks the only thing that comes to mind. "Khan was never here, was he?"

"No." The old woman pauses. "That is not to say a meeting was not scheduled." Her mouth curves at Jim's expression. "Does that surprise you, James? Mr. Singh is not so foolhardy as to walk into Q territory unannounced. He may be ruthless at heart but he is as erudite as any man belonging to a higher class of society, because that is how he wishes to be perceived by the world. Therefore Khan and I, we play on a level entirely unlike the one between you and he. Our rules of engagement are, shall we say, politer?" She picks up her butter knife again and proceeds to spread a layer of jam over a thin wafer. "He desired to meet this afternoon but I fear the man met with an unfortunate delay in his plans... which has lent us valuable time." At the solid rap upon the door, she calls to her guards, "Allow them entry, my good Q, but remain alert. There will be a traitor among us."

Five men enter the chamber, four of them surrounding one silent Q. The man is clearly not present of his own volition. Lady Q motions at his captors to stand to the side and they do so, a flicker of distaste passing across their faces as they allow the Q to stand alone. Jim notices then that all of the Q in the room except the traitor (whose face he cannot see) make an effort to keep their expressions reserved. The traitor's eyes are trained on the rug.

Leonard prods Jim with his elbow. "Now I'm really confused. What's happening?"

"I don't know," he whispers. Jim pulls Leonard to a wall of a room without being told; as this appears to be some affair of great importance, he suspects Lady Q expects them to play the roles of silent observers.

"We, the Q, are here to acknowledge your crime against us," Lady Q begins, speaking to the silent man. "Tell me, Q—do you understand the gravity of the crime?"

"Yes, your Ladyship."

"And are you aware of the penalty for your actions?"

The man remains unmoving. "Yes, your Ladyship."

"Do you agree your trial shall be conducted with justice and impartiality, by the law of the Q; that your punishment, when delivered, shall be fair?"

"Yes, your Ladyship."

Leonard's elbow pokes Jim again. "Are they actually going to say what it is he's done?"

"Then explain to me, Q," the matriarch of the Q intones flatly, gripping her butter knife in one hand, "why. Why would you forsake all that you have known as Q to betray us?"

When the man, the traitor Q, does not stir or raise his head to speak, Lady Q's open palm slams onto the arm of her chair, a crack of sound in the oppressive silence. The Q standing to Jim's right is a statue, unflinching in the face of her Ladyship's anger. Yet the show of temper seems to have an effect on the man bearing the brunt of her attention. His body sways slightly as he says, hardly above a whisper, "H-He promised me more."

"That is not an answer, Q! What could Khan Noonien Singh give you that we cannot or have not?"

The Q's chin sinks to his chest. He shudders once. "I... plead silence. To speak further will dishonor my brothers and sisters."

For a moment, Jim thinks Lady Q is going to demand otherwise. But her grip on her butter knife relaxes somewhat. "Yes," she agrees with a strange calmness, "you should not dishonor yourself further. But know this, Q: what you have sought to do this day shall always be your burden to carry. That outcome I cannot change." To the four Q who escorted him into the room, "Remove him to the Quarter. There he shall remain until the trial convenes."

Jim steps away from the wall. "Lady Q?"

"James."

"What is this man's crime?" Better to ask, he thinks, than spend the rest of eternity wondering.

The traitor finally lifts his head to look at Jim. "James Kirk?" he asks in a strained voice. Jim tenses. A Q guard shifts as though to silence the traitor but Lady Q intervenes with "Let him speak." The Q says slowly, "I was directed to deliver a message to James Kirk upon the completion of my assignment." He pauses before quoting the nursery rhyme, "_All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Humpty back together again._" With a sigh, message delivered, the Q lowers his head and allows himself to be removed from the room without protest.

Leonard repeats the line softly to himself. "I don't like the sound of that," he tells Jim.

"It's Khan gloating," Jim explains simply and pivots to face the old woman in the high-backed chair. "I think I understand now. Khan's presence was pretense but the escape of the prisoners was real," he says, remembering the first alarm that had initiated panic.

She dips her head in agreement. "Khan may have placed a traitor in our midst, but we have one of ours in his. He intended to cuckold me, James; during the moment I felt securest in my power, he would steal my best playing card from under my nose." Her smile has a slight, bitter edge to it. "I won have this round, you see. I have his men and the one who would free them to win his favor."

"And now?" Jim wants to know.

"Now we allow the wolf into the den, dear, where we have set our own traps for him."

* * *

><p>"I've got a headache," Leonard mutters as he rubs at his left temple. He grimaces at Jim. "How do you not have a headache from all this?"<p>

Jim toes off his tennis shoes and briefly considers the boots (of a mysteriously dead captain) at the base of his bed before dismissing them. "Aren't there any normal pairs of shoes around here?"

"You're taking them off."

Jim frowns. "I can't face Khan in my sneakers."

"Damn it, Jim, what's it matter what you're wearin'? Didn't you hear what I said earlier?"

Sure he had. Bones'd told Lady Q and Jim in very detailed language what he thought about a showdown with Khan. Both Jim and Lady Q had chosen to ignore him.

"If I wear what _she_ wants me to wear, Khan will laugh himself silly," Jim complains. "But if I show up in my pajamas, not even I would take myself seriously. _Crap_." He pulls at his hair. "Why can't I have my own closet with my own clothes? Bones, c'mon, man, _think of something._"

Jim is unprepared to be dragged around by the back of his shirt and kissed by McCoy. Leonard pulls away until their noses are almost touching. "You know what I said about the no-sex thing?"

"Yeah," Jim says, eyes wide.

"You can absolutely have sex with me, Jim. _Right now_, in fact."

"Um..." Jim struggles to remember why this isn't something he should want to do. "Khan. Coming over. Soon?"

Leonard smiles and trails his lips along Jim's jaw. "Sex, Jim. Lots of it. Sound good?"

"But when will I get to meet Khan?"

Jim stumbles backwards as Leonard shoves him out of his personal space with a curse. "You stubborn fool! You're supposed to forget about Khan!"

Jim's mouth thins into a half-smirk; his eyes glint mischievously. "You were trying to trick me, Bones? With my own libido? That's low... though under other circumstances it would definitely have worked."

McCoy glares at Jim. "So you think chasing bad guys is better than getting laid?"

"Not _better_, Bones, but just as good."

"There's something wrong with you," Leonard mutters. "By the way, your two weeks of abstinence just became a month." Ignoring Jim's immediate denial of said traumatic news, he turns away. "We need Spock."

Jim follows his boyfriend into the sitting room, his bare feet sinking into the carpet; he doesn't dare admit aloud that his pride is still smarting over his two-week extension on his life as a monk. "Where is he?"

"Don't know. Last time I saw him he was eyeing Pike like a dog eyes a cat. Winona intervened before things could get ugly."

So, Spock hasn't forgiven Pike yet. That pleases Jim more than a little bit. "We should do something about Pike."

"Like what?" Leonard asks.

"I don't know, but I'm sick of being the decoy. Why isn't Pike ever the decoy?"

"I think he graduated from that class, Jim."

Jim pauses between the sitting room door and hallway and frowns. "What are you saying?"

Leonard shoots him an exasperated look. "You said it yourself: you love trouble and trouble loves you."

Jim disagrees to Leonard's retreating back. "Hey, I never said I love trouble!"

"That's what your middle initial stands for—trouble! Now damn it, where's that nosy lawyer gotten to?"

* * *

><p>When Jim and Leonard find him, Spock is drinking tea.<p>

With Christopher Pike.

Jim looks between the two men suspiciously. Leonard wants to know, since each man is holding a cup aloft but not drinking from it, "Who poisoned the tea?"

"The tea is not poisoned," Spock says smoothly, never breaking his staring contest with Pike. "We are attempting civilized behavior... at Winona's request."

Jim plucks Spock's tea cup from his hand. "There's no time for this. Khan's coming over."

Chris lowers his tea cup. "Excuse me?"

Jim ignores Pike. "Spock, how good are you at bluffing?"

Leonard snorts. "Do you seriously need to ask that, Jim, or have you forgotten that time we played poker?"

Jim rolls his eyes. "It was strip-poker, and I let Spock win because the point was to get _out _of my clothes, not keep them on. You're just jealous, Bones, because you really are a lousy poker player."

"That cannot be correct," Spock interjects immediately, apparently taken aback by the notion he did not win fairly.

Jim grins a little. "Spock, I know the difference between an ace and a two. Don't worry, we'll have a rematch—and then you'll get to meet Jimmy's Royal Flush."

"Gentlemen," Christopher Pike says, "if we could return to a more relevant topic of conversation..."

Jim cuts a sly look at Pike. "How's my Royal Flush not relevant?"

"Jim," Leonard groans, "enough." To Chris, "You can ignore half the things he says, 'cause they _are_i rrelevant. I guess Lady Q didn't tell you about Khan's fieldtrip to her house?"

"Not in the least," Christopher mutters darkly. He stands up and removes his coat from the back of his chair. "Where?"

Jim narrows his eyes at Pike. "You aren't invited."

Leonard clamps a hand over Jim's mouth. "See? Irrelevant."

Jim's muffled protest is heated.

Spock rises from the table also. "Perhaps you could enlighten us on the particulars, Doctor McCoy, as we proceed to the appointed destination."

Leonard's mouth quirks. "Certainly, Mr. Spock." After he removes his hand from Jim's mouth he wipes in on his pants in disgust. "You didn't have to drool on me, kid."

Jim's response is a succinct gesture with his middle finger.

* * *

><p>If Khan, who arrives within the hour, is surprised to find Lady Q and her army of men waiting for him, he gives no sign of it. He even smiles broadly as he enters the overly large study designated as their meeting area and bends down to kiss the back of the seated Lady Q's hand then tip his head in acknowledgement at Spock. To McCoy and Pike, he says only, "Well met" as if they've encountered each other at a day in the park.<p>

Then his eyes land on Jim.

Jim doesn't wait to hear whatever condescending piece of shit is about to drop out of Khan's mouth. "You must be pissed."

Khan's smile widens a fraction, displaying more teeth than can be called friendly. "Oh?"

Jim shrugs nonchalantly. "That I'm alive and kicking." _About to kick your ass, that is. _"After all, you've gone to a lot of trouble to see it otherwise."

"Hmm," Khan hums thoughtfully as he takes a seat in a large leather chair and crosses his legs. "And why would I wish you harm, Mr. Kirk?"

"Cut the bullshit!" McCoy snaps.

Spock places a restraining hand on Leonard's arm but he says to Khan, "Leonard is not incorrect, of course. Let us talk business, Mr. Singh. I believe you are aware of your situation."

"No, I do not believe so. What situation have I come into, Mr. Spock?"

Spock doesn't take the bait. His answer is a whiplash of cool reserve. "Your contractors are under the supervision of the Q. We intend, of course, to use them to expose your unlawful acts to the public."

Khan merely steeples his fingers. "Lady Q," he says, addressing the equally calm-looking woman, "I am under the impression the Q do not become involved in the... trivial concerns of those not within the network of the Q."

Lady Q inclines her head ever-so-slightly. "You speak a truth, Mr. Singh. We Q choose our associations wisely."

"Then I hope you are aware of why _I _pose a better ally than any other man in this room."

She taps her fan against her armrest, amused. "Ah, you called this gathering to propose an alliance?"

Khan flicks his dark-eyed gaze to Kirk before returning his attention to Lady Q. "An alliance to which only certain parties are privy—you, as a Queen, being among them."

Lady Q beams at Jim. "Do you see? I am acknowledged as a royal monarch. How lovely!"

"I never said you weren't one," Jim mutters.

Lady Q sniffs and points her fan at McCoy. "_He _said I was a nuisance."

"Oh but, Lady Q," Jim says in a false simpering tone, "from Bones that's a compliment! Just yesterday he called me a bonehead while he—"

"Jim!" his boyfriend hisses.

Jim grins wickedly at Leonard then turns his wicked grin to Khan. "An alliance with the Q is a no-can-do, Khan. But you know that, don't you? Tell us, why are you really here?"

Khan lifts one finely shaped eyebrow. "Most interesting, most interesting indeed. Do you suggest I am a liar?"

"I think you're smart enough to know that someone who has _my _back isn't likely to watch yours. Or didn't Pike and McCoy's defection drive that point home?"

"I never trusted them," Khan says easily. "How could I? Christopher Pike works for a government that would see me ruined, and your Doctor McCoy is a man who leads with his heart. But they were useful for their purpose."

Jim finds himself grinding his back teeth; with effort, he unclenches his jaw. "And what purpose was that?"

But Khan smiles and switches the subject. "I believe you were correct earlier. I should be angry with you, Mr. Kirk." His eyes are hooded like hawk's as it watches its prey. "Gaila came home under a misconception. Luckily," he rumbles, "I corrected that."

Jim had felt no fear up until now. "What did you tell her?"

"I... explained everything." The look in his eyes is cold, too cold. He allows for a delicate pause. "Despite any relationship you may have had with her in the past, _Jim_, you won't be seeing my wife again."

Khan casually turns his hand to catch the sunlight filtering in through the curtains. A strange buzzing fills Jim's ears.

He hadn't noticed. He hadn't... but now he cannot un-see it. The ring. A plain gold band on Khan's left hand.

Somebody screams. Jim realizes distantly it's him, letting out a terrible bellow of rage as he skirts the wide desk in the study and leaps for Khan's throat. The bastard—married to Gaila. No. No, never.

He'd lied to her, of course, when he said he would be at her wedding to support her. Jim knows now he could have never stood idly by and let her become Mrs. Khan Singh. He had hoped he would have found a way to change her mind, had thought she _had _finally realized Khan wasn't with her for the right reasons. But none of that matters because, because...

Khan is laughing as Pike hauls Jim backwards out of reach of Khan. Jim fights him, fights to get free, screaming, "You son of a bitch! You son of a fucking bitch!" He turns his rage on Pike instead. "Let me go! Damn you for _everything _you've done, Chris, let me go! You owe me!"

Khan tells the motionless Lady Q, "How long shall we play these games?" He flows from his chair to his feet and mockingly half-bows toward her. "Forgive my hasty departure, but your pet needs to be calmed before we can speak again."

Her eyes bore into his. "You presume much, Khan Noonien Singh."

"I presume nothing," he counters. "I always _know_—as I know you will learn nothing from my associates. However, I might learn something from _yours_."

She stiffens. He bids her good day.

Pike releases Jim the moment Khan is gone. In his peripheral vision, he sees Spock let go of McCoy too, who had been just as eager to get to the smug bastard. But Jim's hot temper propels him forward, ignoring Spock's sharp call of his name and McCoy's cry of "Wait!" Khan isn't in the hallway when Jim bursts through the study door. And no matter how far he runs, Jim cannot find Khan skulking on the grounds. That infuriates him more.

When he spies Pike again, he makes a beeline for the man, intent on venting his rage. Christopher holds up a hand to stall him, which wouldn't have worked if he hadn't also said, "Khan's lying through his teeth, son."

"Did you see the ring on his hand?" Jim spits. Then, so so angry, he twists around to pace.

"What's a ring mean without a partner? Hell, I've got a ring I use when I go to a bar and don't want women hounding me. _Think_, Jim. He wants to push your buttons, make you do something crazy. Don't assume Gaila married him unless she tells you that face-to-face."

McCoy grabs Jim's shoulders to still his pacing, like he can ground Jim by doing so. "Let's find her, Jim. Chris is right on this."

Jim's eyes skip to Spock. Spock nods slightly. "I don't just want to find her, Bones," Jim says at last. "I want her away from Khan. You'll help me do that," he doesn't ask, staring directly at Pike.

The man sighs like he hadn't expected anything else.

Anger on a leash again, he snags the first Q to cross his path. "I want my motorcycle."

The Q looks at him askance. "Of course, sir. Her Ladyship has already relayed the message. Your transportation shall be available shortly."

Jim lets the man go. At his shoulder, Spock says, "It would seem the Lady Q knows you well."

Jim scrubs at his hair. "She's always one step ahead of us."

"Hm," Spock muses thoughtfully. "What we must wonder is: is she one step ahead of her enemies as well?"

"One can hope," Leonard mutters.

A high, feminine voice laughs behind them. "How else might I have enticed his Lordship Q into marriage had I been but a simpleton?" comes the coquettish reply. Lady Q, followed by her retinue of Q, descends on Jim. "My dearest James, it is most urgent that you leave to rescue the lady Gaila forthwith. I have it on good authority that brute of a man, Khan, has _not _convinced her of his innocence and this bodes ill for the fate of the fair maiden."

Jim, now adept at Lady-Q-speak, translates this news quickly. When it fully assimilates into his brain, he stares at her for a long, silent moment. Afterward, his only comment is: "He won't have the chance." Because consequences be damned, Gaila is his to protect. Khan can destroy every inch of Jim's sanity and Jim's happiness but he cannot—shall not, _ever_—hurt his friend and live.


	15. Part Fourteen

**Title**: Sticks and Stones (15/17)  
><strong>Author<strong>: klmeri  
><strong>Fandom<strong>: Star Trek AOS  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Kirk/Spock/McCoy  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Sequel to Many Bells Down; Riverside 'verse AU. Khan is hell-bent on destroying everything and everyone James Kirk cares about until Jim surrenders the most important person of all—himself.

* * *

><p><strong> Part Fourteen<strong>

"Bones," Jim Kirk says in a low, warning tone, "give me back my helmet." He receives a stubborn glare in response.

"There's no way I'm letting you on that contraption, kid. You have a _concussion_. Here's a basic rule concerning concussions, Jim: don't operate machinery, _especially the kind that move_."

Jim loves Leonard, he really does, but he won't waste any more time on this dumb argument. He feigns resignation and slumps his shoulders. Leonard, after studying the sincerity of his expression for a second or two, relaxes his grip on the helmet. Jim, of course, immediately steals it, plunks it onto his head, and jogs toward his Harley, satisfied. Though he doesn't expect McCoy to give up so easily, Jim flails in surprise when his boyfriend latches onto the back of his jacket and without a word starts dragging him to a silver BMW. Spock, standing on the opposite side of the BMW parked along the circular drive before the entrance to the Q compound, watches on in mild interest as Leonard tries to shove Jim into the backseat and Jim bows up like a cat refusing to go into a pet carrier. They are both sweating and cursing profusely by the time Pike shows up to find out why the three men haven't left on schedule.

Jim, whose head is locked in the crook of Leonard's elbow, struggles. "I'll ride my motorcycle if I want to!"

"Get in the damn car, Jim!" Leonard snarls for the umpteenth time.

"ENOUGH!" Christopher Pike roars.

Leonard reluctantly lets go of Jim. Jim, pausing to look between Pike and McCoy (_ha, suckers! _he thinks), bolts for the Harley. Pike casually intercepts Jim halfway and drops his hand to Kirk's shoulder, clamping it there like a vise. "I don't think so, son. Why don't you ride in the car?"

How condescending, Pike trying to reason with him like he doesn't have any sense of his own!

Jim bares his teeth in a false grin. "I suggest you move out of my way."

Pike seems amused. "You want to tangle with me again? We both know how that turned out last time."

An ugly little monster made of anger rears its head. Jim forcibly removes Pike's hand then sticks his nose in Pike's personal space. "What I remember is you slinking away like a coward because of my _mother_."

"Jim," Christopher says, a hint of bite to his voice, "don't."

Jim has the very tempting urge to poke a finger into the man's chest to see what will happen.

But Pike slowly and deliberately lifts his hands between them, palms out, and repeats flatly, "_Don't._" Then just as quickly, holding Jim's eyes, he drops his hands to his sides again. "You can ride _on _the bike," he informs Jim, "as a passenger."

With narrowed eyes, Jim demands, "And who, exactly, would I let touch my baby?" If Pike believes he would let...

The older man's mouth quirks at one corner. "Oh, it's not what you're thinking, Jim." He chuckles, mostly to himself, then half-turns to call at the double doors of the compound thrown wide open, "Did you find one?"

"Yup, I got it!" Nyota Uhura calls back as she lifts a fire-red helmet into the air for Pike to see. She descends the few steps from the entrance to the driveway.

Jim, suddenly grinning foolishly to see his friend, does a double-take when a thin figure slips down the steps after her but hugs her with boyish enthusiasm nonetheless. "Uhura!"

Her sharp eyes skim his person, missing nothing. "So you're still in one piece."

His grin widens. "I heard you were worried about me." Then Jim's gaze skips over to the man standing slightly behind her. "Pavel," he asks, concerned, "what are you doing here?"

"Jim," Pavel only says, nodding in greeting and not answering the question.

Nyota answers for him. "Pavel wants to help—we both do."

"But what about...?"

"Sulu?" she finishes quietly.

Pavel abruptly turns away. "You are taking the car, _da_?" Without waiting for a response, he marches over to the BMW, nods hello to McCoy and Spock and settles himself into the front passenger seat. Spock lifts his eyebrows questioningly as he considers the young man now perched in the car.

Uhura levels an inscrutable look at Jim when he protests, "It's dangerous. He shouldn't come."

Christopher Pike steps away from their small group, hands in his trouser pockets. "I don't think it's the boy you should be worried about. Take care, Jim." His stare is intense but not unkind. "And don't deviate from the plan. Find Gaila, retreat. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," Jim demurs, betraying little.

Nyota lifts a hand and waves at McCoy, then grabs Jim's arm. "I've got Jim! Let's move out!"

Leonard says something to Spock, Spock replies at length, and the doctor, grumbling, finally jerks open a car door. Spock's eyes touch one last time upon Jim; they share a look. Then the man proceeds to seat himself behind the wheel of the BMW and start the car's engine.

Uhura winds her ponytail into a bun on top of her head before putting on her red helmet; she is humming to herself, pleased for some reason. Jim fits himself behind her on the Harley and hands her the key. "Don't scratch her. She's my life," he adds rather dramatically before turning down his visor.

Her laughter is bright and sunny and slightly wicked. "Oh, no worries, farm boy. But you'd better hold on," she warns.

* * *

><p>Jim has pride—a very manful pride, in fact, which is what spurs him to wonder if anybody can hear him screaming for his life despite his helmet and the wind. He had forgotten what an excellent and terrifying motorcyclist Uhura is. She takes tight curves at 30-degree angles, so close to the road that Jim can feel the heat of the asphalt against his ankles, and gravity somehow makes allowances for her it would for no one else. Perhaps this is how Bones feels when clinging to Jim as he gleefully speeds from one destination to another.<p>

No, Jim decides. He'd never scare Bones this badly.

The trip is both too short (because they are going too fast) and too long (because every second is a dizzying kind of agony for Jim) once it's over. Uhura halts the bike with a flourish of spinning tires and flying gravel that nearly causes her companion to detach from his seat and end up headfirst a row of bushes. When she puts her foot on the ground, the final assurance they won't be moving again, Jim is curled into a tiny, whimpering ball behind her. She lowers the kickstand and pries his fingers from her coat, complaining, "Hey, are you trying to choke me, Jim? Let go!"

His laughter is shaky as he releases her clothing. Jim tucks his ice-cold fingers under his armpits and slides off the motorcycle, not at all surprised when his legs think they're on a ship on the sea. His friend removes her helmet in order to fix her hair back into a smooth ponytail and, to Jim's gratitude, ignores his pitiful staggering to the nearest tree, which he hugs to stay upright.

A minute later, a car turns off the road to join them in the small side clearing Uhura had chosen. Spock parks alongside the Harley. Jim lets go of the tree, hurriedly straightens his clothes and finger-combs his hair—only to realize he hasn't taken off his helmet. The fresh air is soothing once he chucks it aside. Jim closes his eyes, savoring the breeze that dries the sweat on his forehead.

Car doors slam. Uhura greets the newcomers. He hears Bones say, concerned, "Are you sick?" Jim opens his eyes when McCoy repeats his question. The doctor is addressing him. He smiles lopsidedly. "I'm good, Bones."

Leonard's eyes search his face. "You look like death warmed over."

Jim laughs a little. "She's crazy on a bike." He doubts he needs to specify who, since there's only one female among them.

"As we are now well-aware," Spock says, joining them. "Leonard realized his mistake the moment I lost sight of you and Nyota on the highway. He could not be consoled."

"What crazy fools would let these two have licenses?" Leonard snaps, a slight flush to his face. "Damned near gave me a heart-attack just watching you. And I thought Jim was bad by himself!"

Jim gapes. "Wait, wait, wait. Why am _I _being blamed for Uhura's driving? She's the one—"

"Whatever," the man snorts. "I need to get something out of the car." Leonard trundles back to the passenger side of the vehicle.

Uhura steals a glance at Leonard, then at Jim and Spock and silently asks _is everything okay? _What can Jim do but nod? So she gives a shrug of dismissal and returns her attention to Pavel who, even with shoulders hunched, looks tense and antsy.

Spock remarks for Jim's ears alone, "Mr. Chekov appears to be eager for our mission to commence."

Understanding Spock's subtle worry, Jim soothes, "We'll keep an eye on him." Meaning, _I don't intend to let him anywhere near Khan._

The last thing they need is Pavel in jail for mass homicide. Until now, he hadn't thought of the young man as anything but sweet-natured. But it seems even a person with a mild disposition can be driven to a dark place. For Sulu and Sasha's sakes, he doesn't want Pavel to ruin his new life before he has a chance to begin it.

Uhura and Chekov join them as Leonard returns from the car. "We're a mile south of the house," she says as she slowly pulls on a pair of black gloves.

Jim squints in the direction he perceives to be south. Spock gently and wordlessly repositions his head to face the correct direction. Then it occurs to Jim that there is, indeed, something strange going on. He asks Uhura, "How do you know where Khan lives?"

"I've been there, as a guest of Gaila's a couple of months ago. And while I was in the area, I scouted out a few places that might be useful in case I needed to come back." Her mouth curves. "Unannounced, of course."

Leonard whistles. "You've been plannin', darlin'?"

"Only for contingencies. With Jim," she says too sweetly, "there's always a need to consider contingencies."

"Amen," Leonard agrees.

"Let's stow the picking-on-Jim until everybody's safe and sound and ten miles from here, okay?" Jim mutters, taking over the conversation. "So, first order of business. How do we break in?" Khan has probably doubled the eyes watching his property; no doubt, added some attack dogs too.

"We knock on the front door."

Jim, Nyota, Leonard, and Pavel turn as one to stare at Spock.

"Spock, that's crazy!" Leonard says at the same time Jim gasps "Spock, that's brilliant!"

Spock agrees, "Yes, the idea is both crazy and brilliant."

Uhura's teeth tug at her bottom lip while she thinks. "Who do we send as the distraction?"

Pavel shifts on his feet. "I want to do it. I am not afraid. I could be good distraction."

Jim almost says _no_but holds back and considers the look in Pavel's eyes.

"For Sulu," the kitchen boy adds softly.

He nods sharply. "All right. But remember, Pavel, your job will be to draw their attention. Uhura, I think you should go with him. In fact, take the bike up to the gate. You drove him here, and you want to see Gaila. Sound good?"

"It would be best if you provoke them to take you inside the house rather than remove you from the premises," Spock adds.

"_Da._"

Nyota cracks her knuckles inside her gloves. "Can I punch people?"

Jim has a hard time suppressing his smile. "Only if they ask for it."

She looks annoyed. "Since when have I ever punched somebody without a good reason?"

"Oh, me," he says immediately, "all the time."

"You're annoying. That's a good reason."

"Can we get back to the plan?" Leonard wants to know. "Standing out here is making me paranoid. What if someone comes down the road and sees us?"

"There's a terrace that faces the woods," Jim muses, mind racing ahead as he recalls his past encounter with Khan. "If Pavel can unlock the door for us, I doubt it would trip an alarm."

"That sounds too easy, Jim."

"Sure it is, Bones, but we'll have to make it to the terrace first. I imagine that won't be easy at all."

Leonard sighs. "You look thrilled at the prospect." He sighs again. "I don't know how I got talked into this."

Jim is serious when he says, "You can be our getaway driver."

Which apparently is the wrong thing to say. "I'm NOT waiting in the car!"

"Okay, okay, it was just a suggestion."

"You didn't say Spock could wait in the car."

Jim cuts his eyes to Spock. "He knows judo."

Leonard reaches behind his back, un-tucks something, and pulls it out for them to see. Nyota's eyes light up like they do when she sees a purse she wants in a shop window; Pavel's eyes narrow contemplatively.

"Bones," Jim almost whispers, struck by an unnerving sense of deja-vu, "that's a gun."

"No shit." Leonard pulls out its bullet cartridge to inspect how full it is. "Chris handed it to me before we left."

Leonard is starting to scare him these days. "A gun, I don't know..."

"You don't think they aren't armed!" McCoy protests, waving the muzzle of his gun in a southward direction. "Oh wait I musta forgot, Jim—they're planning on fighting us off with lollipops and rainbows shooting outta their asses!" He continues grimly, "I know how to use a gun."

"_Can _you use a gun?" Jim asks in a tight voice, posing an entirely different question.

Leonard's mouth flattens for an instance. "Yes," he says at last. "If I have to, I can—but only if I have to."

"I know you're not going to give it to me now, but if you think you might have to use it, pass it to me instead," Jim offers. "I know how to shoot too." His stomach lurches at the thought, but Bones has a delicate love for all life and it wouldn't take much to destroy that part of him Jim loves fiercely, so he must protect his Bones.

He glances at Spock.

And protect Spock, too. Though the man isn't opposed to what they are about to do, Jim knows Spock prefers to fight his battles with the law and, on some level, this goes against what Spock has worked hard to train himself to be.

Which means Jim will most assuredly have to ditch Bones and Spock at some point to carry out his real plan.

They're going to get Gaila to safety but Jim has no intention of stopping there. He's done with being the better man because it's brought him nothing except more unwanted attention. His vulnerabilities play him right into Khan's hands every time. Pike had been right, in a sense, because Khan knew exactly where to hit Jim to make him crack. And this will keep happening unless Jim stops refusing to fight back the way Khan wants him to.

Weakness is not for men like them. This Khan believes; this Khan lives by. Jim is beginning to understand why.

His thoughts catch up the conversation. Uhura is ready to go with Pavel. Leonard has found a spot for Spock to tuck the BMW out of sight. He wants to cover the car with branches or brush to make it less conspicuous, complaining that Lady Q could have given them something darker in color rather than a "silver steed" as she had so lovingly called it. The four people are working together like a unit, like a team that's been together for years and who draws strength from each other's determination to see the mission to its end. Jim is strangely proud in that moment of his friends—his family.

Khan can't have them. Khan can't have this town. The only way to stop Khan from taking everything in Jim's life is to become his equal: a cold, ruthless, underhanded bastard of a man; a destructive force no one can withstand.

His fingers trace the lighter inside his pocket. Jim, for once, feels ready to meet Khan's challenge; and whether he likes to admit it or not, he may owe some of his readiness to Christopher Pike, who had approached him two hours earlier with something to say:

_ Pike didn't turn from the window overlooking the courtyard; his hands were clasped behind his back, a position of business and authority he was obviously used to. Jim stood close enough to talk without their voices carrying. At that moment, however, the silence between them was strained with the undercurrent of an issue they hadn't dealt with, but Jim now saw an opportunity to address it. _

_ "If I do this," he began, speaking softly though the two men were alone in the sitting room, "I want something in return." _

_ "Getting rid of Khan won't be enough?" Christopher murmured, eyes fixed on some distant spot of the Q's sprawling grounds. _

_ Jim kept his arms crossed, back straight, and voice flat. "Khan isn't the only one in Riverside who doesn't belong here." _

_ "Ah," Pike said, equally soft. He abandoned the window then to meet Jim's eyes. "I don't know what it is about you Kirks but the closer I try to get, the farther you push me away. I'll agree, Jim, but I want to hear you say it first." _

_ He had no problem with that request: "I want you gone, Chris. It's not my business if you make trips to see the Q but don't bring that business back to Riverside—especially to my mother. Her life is hard enough without dealing with the shit that comes along with yours." _

_ Another heartbeat of silence passed while Pike absorbed the brutal truth in Jim's words. "I was wrong," he said slowly. "You're more like Winona than George. Too much, maybe. I wish I'd seen that earlier." But he didn't explain what he meant. _

_ "Do we have a deal?" _

_ Pike nodded. "If you help with what I want, Jim, I think in the end we'll both be satisfied. Do you need me to repeat any of the instructions?" _

_ "No." _

_ "Then you know what to do once you're inside. It's our one shot, so do it right." _

_ Jim turned away, taking this statement as the end of their conversation. But Pike called his name as he reached for the door to his bedroom, and Jim stopped to listen. _

_ "Good luck," Pike said, his expression strangely solemn. _

_ "I won't need it," Kirk replied._

And he won't need luck, because Jim doesn't intend to walk out of Khan's life until he is certain his enemy is utterly destroyed. After all, isn't that what Khan wants to do to him?

* * *

><p><strong> A few notes: <strong>  
><strong> 1. The story-epiphany has arrived! There are two chapters left, maybe three at most; <strong>  
><strong>2. The fanmix will be posted with the final chapter of Sticks and Stones; and <strong>  
><strong>3. I should mention somebody is going to die by the end. No, really! Sadly, it won't be one of the usual "fake deaths" or "almost deaths". But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.<strong>


	16. Part Fifteen

**Title**: Sticks and Stones (16/17)  
><strong>Author<strong>: klmeri  
><strong>Fandom<strong>: Star Trek AOS  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Kirk/Spock/McCoy  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Sequel to Many Bells Down; Riverside 'verse AU. Khan is hell-bent on destroying everything and everyone James Kirk cares about until Jim surrenders the most important person of all—himself.  
><strong>Previous Part<strong>: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

* * *

><p><strong>Part Fifteen<strong>

_The mourners look up at the man behind the podium and the room falls into a hush when he begins to speak._

_"Thank you all for coming. Today we mourn the loss of a great man. So many of you have come forth with stories of his valor and his kindness that I deeply regret I did not know James Kirk in person before tragedy took the young man from us. He was the kind of citizen who worked harder to improve the quality of life for others than he did for himself. His selflessness will be always an example to this country of the spirit of an exemplary American. To this town, and his family and friends, I offer my heartfelt condolences."_

_The speaker bows his head then and sniffles a little. Mayor Robert Wesley steps up to the podium and pats the man's back in sympathy. "Thank you, Mr. President," he says. "Your presence at Jimmy's memorial is an honor. He would have loved to know you came."_

_The President nods and, sad-faced, trails back to his seat along the edge of the audience where his security team encloses around him protectively. It is apparent he intends to stay for the duration of the service._

_"And now," the mayor of Riverside murmurs in the microphone, "Doctor Leonard McCoy would like to say a few words on behalf of the deceased."_

_The deep lines in Leonard's face are carved from grief and his hands shake slightly as he situates them on the podium. "Y'all know how much I loved Jim," he begins. "Sometimes I thought he was the sun in the sky, because he had the ability to make even the worst of days seem brighter. God," the man chokes, "how I miss him!" He closes his eyes briefly, perhaps to hold back tears, and then opens them again before continuing on. His voice falls to a gravelly rumble. "But I have to say... he deserved what he got."_

_Muttering drifts through the audience; several people nod vigorously as though McCoy is a preacher giving a wholesome sermon._

_"The kid was a fool!" Leonard declares into the microphone and thumps his fist on the podium for emphasis. "Time and time again, I told him, 'Jim, never was there a crazier man than you. I don't know why you can't be normal like everybody else.'"_

_"Amen!" somebody shouts. In the back of the room, against a wall, Jose dressed in a rented suit shakes his head in disappoint at Jim's closed coffin._

_Winona Kirk lifts her black veil and, though her face is streaked with tears, her voice has a fierce quality to it. "Do you know when Jimmy finally stopped popping wheelies with his bicycle? When he cracked his head open! It took _forever _to convince Dr. Piper I wasn't beating the child, that he naturally did every dangerous thing he could think of, and that's why his hospital record took up three file folders before he was even seven years old!"_

_"That's right," Leonard says, agreeing with his pseudo-mother-in-law. "And do you know what I told him right before he died? I said to the idiot, 'If you think this plan is gonna work..."_

"_Jim_," a voice hisses in Kirk's ear, "are you listening to me? I said—"

"'If you think this plan is gonna work, you're crazy, stupid, or both.'" Jim mutters. "I heard you, Bones."

"But you're not listening, are you? Instead, you're daydreamin' like a schoolgirl!"

Jim sighs, shifts slightly to ease the ache in his legs (he's been squatting in one position for too long) and steals a glance at the man on his right. "I was imagining the eulogy you'd give at my funeral."

"I'd tell everybody how dumb you were to die."

"I know."

Spock interrupts. "Arguing is futile for our current purpose. We have not decided on a course of action."

The three men lay at the edge of the woods in the shadow of two tall, entwined pines. In the distance, across an expanse of grass, Khan's house is silhouetted by the setting sun. They cannot readily see any security stationed around the back of the house.

"At this point," Jim says, "the only plan is to be over there, not here. Let's go." He stands up, grimacing at the tight pull of his leg muscles, and breaks from the line of trees.

Leonard catches up to him. "Jim, they'll see us coming!"

"If they were trained guards, maybe. But I think when Uhura and Pavel show up, they won't be focused on looking for us."

"An interesting assumption," Spock remarks as he strides alongside Kirk and McCoy. "You seem reasonably certain they will abandon their posts."

Jim hesitates but decides to tell them anyway. "Lady Q said they had someone within Khan's circle—it's actually one of Pike's agents. The agent knows about us."

Leonard halts Jim by grabbing his arm, demanding, "And where was I when this was explained?"

Jim tries not to wince. "I may have had a... talk with Pike before we left the compound."

"Jim..." Leonard says in a warning tone.

"What else was said in this conversation that should we know?" Spock inquires, staring levelly at Jim from over Leonard's shoulder.

Jim has a hard time meeting that dark, steady gaze. "If I said nothing, would you let it go at that?"

Neither McCoy nor Spock reply. Jim realizes his mistake in mentioning Pike. He looks toward Khan's house, warring over an internal debate, and as if they sense something not weighing in their favor, Leonard and Spock casually rearrange their positions—and it's clear they don't intend to let Jim walk away. Leonard blocks Jim on one side; Spock, on the other.

"If you feel you cannot tell us, then there is indubitably intel we need to know before we proceed," Spock states.

Leonard's voice is somewhat gentler. "Something on your mind, Jim?"

Trapped. Why are his lovers so good at this?

"I don't want you involved." And, boy, does that sound stupid or what? But Jim means it.

"We're here," Leonard says. "That means we're involved until the end. It means we _want_to be involved until the end. Don't say you wouldn't feel the same if the roles were reversed."

"Leonard speaks for us both."

He can't step back or he'll run into Spock. He can't step forward or he will run into McCoy. And he can't sidestep because they will simply sidestep along with him, still effectively keeping him between them.

...Pike doesn't have to know he told Spock and McCoy. Frankly, Pike should _expect_that Jim would eventually share this secret plan with them. If the man thought otherwise, then he was fooling himself as much as Jim tried fooling himself a moment ago.

Jim asks once, "Are you sure?" _There's no going back once I say it,_he is warning them.

They hear his implied warning; and they still say yes.

So Jim talks. He tells them exactly what is going to happen once they make it inside Khan's house. When the explanation has come to its natural end, Spock is silent, his expression inscrutable. Leonard slowly sucks in a deep breath and releases it. Then he says, worry acting as a heavy undercurrent of his words, "You could end up in jail. Jim..." His eyes flick to Spock. "We're talking federal offense, right?"

"At worst," Spock agrees, breaking his silence. "If the proper plea was made and the circumstances considered, the minimum sentence would still be at least ten-fifteen years in a federal prison." There is a pause. "If Jim is caught."

Jim snatches at that idea immediately. "But I won't get caught! In fact, remember who Komack really works for. He's on our side."

"Not every person would be willing to risk his career, Jim," Spock says too softly, "even for a friend."

He hears what Spock isn't saying and smiles half-heartedly. "I wouldn't blame that person either. I know the risks I run by doing this. I accept them. I also know it's not my right to ask for help, or expect it." He lowers his voice. "You're free to go, Spock. Pretend you never heard a word. That's what I would like for you to do—you and Bones both."

Spock looks at him for a long moment before reaching out to caress Jim's cheek with long, elegant fingers. "My loyalty to you is freely given, as is my love. We will experience this together, Jim."

Leonard makes a strange noise, then jerks Spock's head around by the chin and presses a kiss to his mouth. "That's the best thing I've ever heard," he says roughly when the kiss is over.

Jim shoulders Leonard aside so he can have his turn. "Thank you," he whispers.

Spock's hands trail along his back. "You will let me come with you."

"You can guard the door," Jim offers.

"Hey," Leonard says, close enough to knock his knees against Jim's legs. "What will I get to do?"

Jim lifts his eyebrow in an imitation of Spock's expression. "Don't you have the gun, Bones? You'll guard Spock."

The lawyer quickly inserts, "I can defend myself."

Jim grins. "Lifelong judo lessons and all that, I know. But don't you agree it's better when somebody is around to help?"

"I won't shoot you in the foot, if that's what you're worried about, Spock," Leonard adds.

"I was not worried," Spock answers primly. "Your help will be most appreciated, Doctor McCoy." He emphasizes the title Doctor as it to imply _if you shoot my foot, you are responsible for repairing the damage._

Jim eases back and slaps a hand on each of their shoulders. "Fantastic! Can we go now? I think I hear yelling."

"That'd be Uhura, I guess," Leonard says.

"Pavel," Spock corrects. "The cursing is in Russian. He's quite inventive."

"You know Russian?" Leonard asks, surprised.

"My father is a diplomat and well-versed in several languages. He occasionally shares some of his knowledge with me."

Jim barks out a laugh. Leonard chuckles, saying, "You mean Sarek's taught you how to cuss in different languages? God, I don't believe it!"

Spock smoothes down his tailored jacket and says something pointedly to Leonard in a Slavic language. When Jim asks what it was he called Leonard, Spock's eyes dance with amusement. "I believe I said Leonard has the feet of a pig."

...They're on a mission. Jim isn't supposed be rolling around on the grass laughing so hard his sides hurt. Leonard drags Jim upright. "Shut up," he snarls, face flushed. To the other man, "You'll pay for that, Spock!"

Jim accidentally glances at McCoy's feet and starts laughing all over again.

"Indeed," Spock intones deprecatingly and turns away to begin a glide-walk toward their destination. Jim and Leonard hurry to catch up.

* * *

><p>The tension in Jim's shoulders returns as his urge to laugh fades. He hates how exposed he feels striding across the neatly trimmed lawn, but it can't be helped. When Kirk, Spock, and McCoy meet the low wall which marks the beginning of a cobblestone patio, no one comes flying out of the house—upstairs or downstairs—to attack them. In fact, it's eerily quiet now. Pavel's cursing rant has been silenced, and Jim hopes that means Uhura and Chekov have been escorted off the front stoop and into the house. But he has no way of knowing that.<p>

"Stay close," he whispers as they sneak toward the iron gate at the foot of a long set of stucco stairs. Jim eases open the gate and moves up the stairs first. The waist-high walls of the staircase do not entirely hide them for view, but it gives Jim something to crouch behind once he reaches the top. As he had seen from below, the terrace is empty. He reaches up and undoes the latch to the second gate but does not push it open. Spock is crouched on a step just below him, McCoy after Spock.

He gives them a hand signal to keep quiet because now he can hear voices muted through the closed glass doors separating the terrace from the house. Then one of voices suddenly rings as clear as a bell, and it's the sweetest sound Jim has ever heard.

Uhura is demanding, "Where's my friend?"

From his awkward angle, he can only catch a glimpse of the shape of her through the glass as she stalks through the room. Another shape rushes after her, in black, but she is already at the door, flipping its lock and sliding it open. Uhura's eyes skim the horizon as she places a territorial foot onto the terrace; she never once glances at the gated steps where Jim's hunched form would be obvious.

"Gaila?" Nyota calls.

"You can't be here!" Jim hears behind her.

The woman half-turns to address the person at her back—a man, unrecognizable by voice. "I can go anywhere I want to, or don't you know I'm Gaila's friend? Now tell me where is she is, or I'll let Pavel kick you in the balls this time."

Someone else interrupts. "Miss, if you will follow me. I have spoken to Mr. Singh. He is on his way... please, come with me, I beg you..."

Uhura pulls back into the room, slamming the terrace door to showcase her ire. She is arguing with a house servant; their voices fade again.

Jim meets the eyes of Spock and McCoy and announces, "We're in." He pushes open the gate and creeps along the edge of the terrace, the two men he trusts most in the world at his back.

* * *

><p><em>"My intelligence said she's being kept in a room on second floor. There will be guards."<em>

_Kirk clenched and unclenched his fists in fury. "Guards won't stop me."_

_Pike took measure of him. "I doubt they will, son."_

* * *

><p>It isn't hard to find Gaila's prison, or the men making certain she stays locked up. But surely she had heard Uhura calling her name? Unless... Jim goes cold with the thought that Gaila might have been unable to cry out for help. What would Khan do to her?<p>

No, there's no time to worry. Act now, Kirk.

Spock and McCoy hang back at his insistence. Jim, stepping around the corner of the hall, strolls toward the two men leaning against either side of a door with his most charming smile. Their heads rise like dogs scenting the prey of the hunt and swing in his direction. The man closest to Jim immediately blocks the middle of the hallway. Jim doesn't recognize his face, or his companion's.

"Hey," he says, still smiling. "I must be lost."

"Aw, fuck," the second guard mutters under his breath, his eyes widening when he takes a good look at Kirk.

The first guard's nostrils flare. "_You!_" His next step forward reveals his slight limp. "Mother-fucking son of a bitch!"

Jim's lungs lock up at the sound of that voice, an almost panic threatening to rise to the surface, but he squashes it down.

So it's true, all of it. Jim had known it in his heart, but here is the proof of Khan's desire to be rid of him. He has a hard time dragging his eyes away from the gold watch on the guard's wrist.

"So," Jim says, pretending he isn't at all taken by surprise, "did you hear you're a lousy shot? My friend's still alive."

The man's upper lip curls in a sneer. "You're dead, you know that? I had to fucking beg for my life 'cause you got away. Never gonna fuckin' beg again... _Kirk_." Jim's last name is said with menace.

The other hired thug sinks back against the door, face pale, hands shaking. "Oh shit—oh shit. How did—? Fuck, Crawley, he _knows _what we look like now!" His trembling hand reaches up as if he intends to hide his face, only realizing belatedly it's too late with Jim staring right at him.

"Shut up, Moron," the meaner one snaps, flicking off the safety on a gun.

But the younger one panics. "What the fuck do we do! Aw man, they said there are people downstairs! You can't _shoot _him here!" His gaze flickers up and down the hall nervously.

"Khan wants him dead so we kill 'im, and maybe this time we'll get cash instead of a beating." Thug #1 calls out sharply, "Hey, where're you going, you little fucker?"

Jim takes another backwards step, ignoring the way the man follows him, and indicates the opposite direction. "Uh, bathroom?"

"Piss in your pants for all I care. Watch that door, Moron. I got this. You, Kirk—don't try nothing funny. We're gonna take a walk."

Jim stumbles into the wall when the man closes in on him and jabs the gun between his ribs. As the man prods him to start moving again, Jim bites down on his lip to keep from smiling. _That's right, you asshole_, he thinks. _Let's take that walk._

And they do, right around the corner of the hallway into Spock's bone-breaking karate chop. It happens fast: Spock attacks, the thug drops the gun; and the man's shout of surprise is cut off midway as Spock quickly catches him by the neck then smacks him headfirst into the wall. He drops unconscious to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Jim takes one look at the neatly disarmed killer and decides he is going to fall in love with Spock all over again.

"Crawley!" The second thug who comes barreling around the corner, almost trips over his laid-out partner and straight into the muzzle of Leonard's gun.

"Hello there," McCoy says in a slow drawl.

The man looks from the gun to Leonard's very calm face and back again. "...Shit."

Spock, perhaps taking pity on the poor fellow, knocks him out.

"Well," Jim says after a moment, "that wasn't difficult… but I don't suppose either of you brought duck-tape?"

"Left my roll in the car," Bones deadpans.

Jim steps around the bodies. "Wait here. Spock, feel free to punch them again if they wake up." He pauses to look back at his tall boyfriend. "By the way, that was fucking awesome."

* * *

><p>The door is locked so Jim kicks it in. Okay, he kicks it twice. It's a BIG door.<p>

Not quite hobbling (how the hell can one twist an ankle with a kick?), he jumps into the room. No Gaila. Clothes are strewn everywhere; a red gown is torn into shreds. The bed is unmade and is missing pillows.

"Gaila!" Jim calls.

Something rattles in the bathroom. He pounds on the door. "Gaila? Gaila, it's Jim!"

More rattling, a crash and the sound of breaking glass.

Why are all of the stupid doors locked in this house? Jim curses under his breath and throws himself at the door. The frame splinters easily and the door crashes open.

Gaila is in a standalone claw-footed bathtub, fully clothed, bound, gagged, and handcuffed to the spigot. She makes a sob through the cloth in her mouth. Jim, suddenly close to crying, drops to his knees across from her and pulls the gag away.

"Jim," she says, voice hoarse as if she'd been screaming for a long time.

He takes her face between his hands and kisses the corner of her mouth, not caring how wet or make-up streaked her face is.

A sob shudders out of her. "Oh Jim, Jim, I'm so sorry, he's so _a-awful_..."

"It's okay," Jim tells her and shushes her. "Let me look."

Her hands are tied together, with a handcuff below the binding on one wrist. Jim quickly searches through the cabinet drawers for something to cut the rope.

"The glass, Jim—I knocked over a bottle so you'd hear me. Can you use that?"

He crouches by the tub and fishes for a piece of glass on the tile floor. "Got it. C'mere."

Soon, with careful cutting, her hands are free. Jim shoves away the murderous thoughts in his head when he sees the abrasions on her wrists where the skin had been rubbed off in her struggling. They both stare at the handcuffs.

"Jimmy." Gaila looks at him with a colorless face. "I don't have the key," she whispers.

He starts to get up. "Maybe the bastards at the door..."

"Khan took it with him."

Jim rests his forehead against the cold porcelain of the bathtub in despair. He feels Gaila's fingers dig into his hair. They don't have anything to cut the metal, not of the handcuff or the pipe. Jim picked the lock of a pair of handcuffs once but he was a kid then, they were plastic, and it still took him over an hour.

If the person who led Uhura away is to be believed, Khan is coming back to the house. That can't happen until...

Damn it, time is running out. What is he supposed to do?

"Gaila," he says, lifting up his head, "I'm not leaving you. I promise I won't leave you. Can you trust me?"

Her eyes search his. "I love you, Jim; so, yes, I trust you." But her voice sounds small, tremulous as she asks, "What's going to happen?"

"Bones and Spock will stay with you," he says, standing up, his heart clenching painfully as he does so. He spies a pack of nylon rope tossed carelessly in the corner of the bathroom and retrieves it, then comes back and kisses Gaila's forehead. "Just... trust me. I have to do something but then I'm coming right back."

"Okay," she says as she brings her knees up to her chest. "Okay, Jim."

Though they are trying to reassure one another, Jim doesn't think it's working very well. He leaves her room at a run.

Leonard straightens upon seeing him. "Jim!"

He tosses the rope at Spock. "Make sure they can't move." Jim is pleased to see Spock has already used the men's belts to bind their hands. "Bones, Gaila is handcuffed. Can you think of something to get her loose? Even if you can't," he finishes in a rush, "just stay with her, _please_."

Jim turns in another direction.

"Jim, wait!" Leonard calls after him, frightened.

"I can't, Bones. This has to be done. Khan will be here soon, and then it'll be over. I want you with Gaila; she needs you more than I do right now."

Spock stares hard at Jim, hands full of rope and a slight look of alarm in his eyes. "You cannot do this alone."

"That was the original plan," Jim replies and turns his back to them, sprinting for the nearest set of stairs.

* * *

><p><em>"There is a false wall in the kitchen pantry. Behind it, you will find a duffel bag. That bag, Jim, is our ticket to capturing Khan. Without it, he walks free."<em>

_"What do I do with the bag?"_

_Pike rubbed the knuckles of one hand. "On the ground floor is a safe room. I'll provide you blueprints of his house. Memorize them before you leave the compound. In the duffel will be the safe's combination. The locking mechanism is set up to require a fingerprint in conjunction with the code. We've provided a synthetic poly-mold of his fingerprint in the bag as well. You shouldn't have an issue opening the safe."_

_Jim shifted on his feet. "This sounds like major spy stuff, Chris."_

_"We're dealing with an international terrorist. 'Spy stuff' comes with the territory."_

_"And then?"_

_"Leave the bag in the safe."_

* * *

><p>In theory, Pike's request sounds simple enough. If Jim were a burglar in an empty house, it would be simple; but there are people downstairs. Uhura and Chekov. Nyota is stalking back and forth across the open foyer like a panther. Pavel, hair and eyes wild, is being closely guarded by two men... one of which is Frank Rand. Each time Pavel spits something in Russian at one of the men, Rand's hand creeps to his belt.<p>

Jim can't access the kitchen with passing through this part of the house.

Damn. Well, there's nothing to be done about it.

Jim takes a deep breath and slowly eases away from the wall to peer between the first two banister rails on his side of the open hall.

_C'mon_, he prays silently toward Chekov, who is situated closest to the stairs, _look this way. C'mon, Pavel!_

Telepathy would be an excellent superpower to have right about now.

Chekov's eyes dart from one of Khan's cronies to the other. Jim, biting down hard on his bottom lip, cautiously waves his hand, hoping the movement is enough to catch the young man's attention. Maybe he does have telepathy after all, Jim muses when Chekov looks up. Jim grins in relief. Then he points at Rand and mimes a punch.

Pavel blinks.

Jim does it again. _Rand + fist = Thumbs Up!_

Pavel's face has a brilliant light to it when he's happy, like now.

Rand asks suspiciously, "What the hell are you grinning at, boy?"

Pavel's head slowly swivels toward Rand. "I grin," he says equally slowly, "because I can hit you now."

Rand has less than a second to react because Chekov, with his bird-like frame, is much faster. Jim cheers in his head when Rand is flattened across the foyer by a single blow. Then Chekov, a demon with a cherub's face, throws himself on top of Rand and begins to smash in his face with fervor. Frank screams.

Uhura, ignoring the alarmed shout of house servant or secretary (whatever the person's position may be), gives a whoop of joy and barrels at the other guard, no questions asked and no orders given. The man gapes for a split second, realizes she is after him, and turns tail, running away. Uhura pausing only to kick off her heels before taking off after him.

Jim giggles. The fool will never make it. Nyota is the best runner in Riverside. He deserves the pounding he's going to get.

Quickly, Jim bounds down the stairs; he tosses a "thanks, Pavel!" to his friend and pinpoints the direction of the kitchen. The servant-person cowers against a wall as he passes by. Jim warns her, "Save yourself" before jogging in pursuit of a kitchen pantry.

* * *

><p><em>"That can't be it," Jim demanded after a heartbeat of silence.<em>

_Pike sighed. "Will you stop interrupting?"_

_"I'm just saying," Jim insisted, "that's a crappy plan, unless there's more."_

_"There's more."_

_Jim waited._

_Pike pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it to Jim, who caught it and inspected it. "Let's move on to Phase II," Pike said._

* * *

><p>The safe door weighs more than five Jim Kirks put together. Jim grunts with the effort of pushing it open. Wouldn't Bones be proud that he is using his leg muscles and not his back?<p>

Expecting to see stacked bars of gold and stolen DaVinci paintings, Jim is very surprised when he discovers the safe holds anything of little worth. Papers and books mostly; a rolled-up Persian rug is propped in one corner. But the contents are not his problem. Jim drags the duffel bag (surprisingly heavy itself) into the open safe and positions it in the middle of the floor. He almost, _almost_ looks through the contents of the bag but a sense of urgency (_Gaila, Gaila upstairs with Bones and Spock_) overrides his natural curiosity.

Slipping out of the safe, his mind is minutes ahead of his body, worried about how he is going to free Gaila, and so he isn't expecting to meet a setback to his plan. Said setback, a monster with a bloody face, slams a fist into Jim's nose. Jim's head snaps back and cracks against the metal bulk of the safe door. For a moment, the pain is overwhelming and black spots dance in front of Jim's eyes.

Two hands drag Jim away from the door only to slam him against it again. "I ought to have known," Frank spits thickly from a swollen jaw. "James Fucking T. Kirk."

Jim worms an arm between them and brings it down into the crook of Rand's elbow, forcing the man to let him go on one side. He uses his weight to spin them until Frank stumbles sideways into the door. Free, Jim dances back when Rand drunkenly lumbers toward him. Pavel's handiwork has made a bloody mess of Rand's face.

"You," Frank says, stumbling again on his feet. "H-How'd you get in here, Kirk?"

Jim wipes away a thin trickle of blood from his nose. "I came to pay a visit to my dear friend Khan. Can't I stay for tea?"

"Such a little shit. What're ya doin' _here_?" Frank's bloody palm slip-slides against the polished steel of the safe door. His body, barely able to support itself, sags against it.

Suddenly, seeing Frank Rand so messed up, Jim doesn't want to fight him. "Get out," he advises the once-cop. "If you've got a brain cell left in your head, Frank, get out of here while you can."

"S-s'not my job."

"Your job's about to go down the crapper along with Khan."

Frank pushes away from the safe with a sudden burst of energy. "You—I hate you, Jim. Do you know that? Why're you always ruining my life?"

"Maybe 'cause you fucked up mine first."

"_Fuck _you," Frank snarls. "Why would I want a cocksucker like you dating my girl?"

Jim's laughter is made of years of bitterness. "That was before you knew about me, Frank. Don't kid yourself. You may be a homophobic asshole, I don't doubt, but it was not about that, was it?"

Frank glowers at him from one eye; the other eyes is swollen shut and purpling. "She made herself sick crying over you. Every day for a whole summer after you dumped her. I had to listen to it. So don't condescend to _me_, you bastard. You're no better 'n anybody else!"

Jim says nothing. He hadn't made a mistake when he ended it with Janice, but Frank won't listen to that. In a small way, he can understand Frank Rand's hatred for him. But that doesn't mean he should apologize for it.

"I'm going now, Frank," Jim says mildly. He skirts around the listing man and pushes the safe door closed. Its lock clicks loudly into place. "You can try to stop me but I think we both know you can't." He pauses, turns to Rand again. "I do want the answer to one question."

"I ain't got nothing to say."

"Where's the key to Gaila's handcuffs?"

Frank laughs.

Jim waits for a moment, ignoring the ugly laughter, but Frank never stops. The man, hiccupping between laughs, collapses to his knees on the floor. "You'll never get her out," Rand chokes out. "Khan's been waitin' too, for this moment, for a long time. He's gonna get you, Jim, and it's going to be damned grand to see."

* * *

><p>Uhura is bent over listening to an unconscious Pavel's chest when Jim makes it back to the foyer. "Jim!" she says, sounding upset. "The son of a bitch tazered him! Well, I got the tazer now. Let's see how that bastard likes it himself!" she snarls furiously.<p>

Jim kneels beside her and touches two fingers to the pulse in Pavel's neck. He is lightheaded with relief when the pulse seems strong beneath the skin. "Uhura, can you move Chekov outside?" He overrides any questions she may have. "I know where Gaila is, but I have to break her free. Don't argue with me. I need to know the two of you are out of this house and safe, understand?"

"Why?" she asks softly.

Jim digs into his pocket and pulls out the lighter. "Phase II" is all he says.

Her eyes widen. "You'd better be certain this place is empty, Jim."

"Trust me," he echoes. "I won't do it otherwise."

Nyota make look long-boned and willowy and lovely but she is very, very strong. Jim helps arrange Chekov on her back and she stands up with the complaint, "He'd better not wake up. This is embarrassing."

"I think you look kick-ass. Like an Amazon queen."

"Shut up, Mr. Flatterer."

Jim squeezes her shoulder. "Thank you, Nyota, for everything."

Her face softens. "Be safe too, Jimmy." Then she becomes hard again. "If I see Khan, I'll rip his balls off for you."

"You do that," Jim says, loving the idea.

* * *

><p>Bones is in the bathtub with Gaila. Her head lifts from Leonard's arm when Jim bolts into the room, and Jim can see how shiny her wrist is. An opened jar of Vaseline sits abandoned on the edge of the tub.<p>

"Any luck?" he asks quietly.

Gaila's face crumples. "Jim."

He immediately reaches over and winds up pulling both Leonard and Gaila into a hug. "Don't cry," he whispers into her hair. "Please, Gaila, don't cry."

"Jim," Bones says against his ear. "I had to tell her."

Jim stiffens.

Gaila pulls back, laughing hollowing as she scrubs fiercely at the tear tracks on her cheeks. "I'm sorry I'm making a mess of your plan. I'd say go ahead and do what you have to do but I don't really want to die," she jokes halfheartedly. "I heard burning to death is as bad as drowning."

He wants to puke at that thought. "No. _No._ That's NOT going to happen. It doesn't matter, we're not leaving you here. We came here for _you_, Gaila." He knows he sounds slightly hysterical.

Leonard lays a calming hand on his shoulder.

Jim regains control of himself and grasps the only thought that isn't coated in terror. "Where's Spock?"

"He had to move the men. When we do get her out, we can't risk them being left behind."

No, they couldn't. That would be murder.

Jim glares at the stubborn handcuff around the faucet. "What can I do?"

"Break my hand," Gaila says instantly.

"No!" Jim and Leonard snap, aghast at the idea.

She looks at the doctor. "It will heal, right? Come on, do _something_, otherwise we don't leave until the cops walk in to arrest you." Her eyes plead. "I'm a big girl, Leonard. I'll survive a dislocated thumb. Don't let Jim go to jail. Please."

"That wouldn't work," Leonard argues. "This isn't the movies!"

Jim jumps up to pace. He is so frustrated, he wants to beat something into a pulp.

Gaila sighs. "Give me back my nail file then. I can't just sit here." She hacks at the handcuffs' key hole with the blunt end of the nail file, cursing murderously under her breath.

Leonard climbs out of the bathtub and pulls Jim aside. "There's nothing we can do, Jim. Maybe we can hold Khan on kidnapping charges."

"He'll have her killed before she can testify," Jim whispers furiously, not wanting to scare Gaila with that very real possibility.

"What else is there? Damn it, Jim—!" Leonard is equally frustrated by their lack of options.

The gunshot, unexpected, scares the shit out of them both. Afterward, when Jim can think properly, his first thought is "Gaila!"

The red-haired woman is buckled half-in and half-out of the bathtub, stunned. Her white face slowly turns up to look at Jim at the sound of her name, as if she is hearing from a distance. When he grabs her, not just her but removes the gun from her hand, she shakily lifts up her arm and stares at it. The chain of the handcuff is broken in half; the other half is still dangling from the bathtub faucet. He realizes, too slowly, she had put a bullet through it.

Jim clutches her to his chest. The room is spinning. "_Gaila._"

Gaila wilts against him.

Leonard's hands move past Jim, inspecting her arm, and the doctor isn't steady either. A soft litany of curses spills out of his mouth.

"Sorry, Len," the woman partly whispers. "Jim will tell you—" she gasps softly, paling further, "—I'm good at taking things I'm not supposed to."

Jim shifts her around gently but she is still limp in his arms. "Bones, what's wrong with her?"

"Shock, I think..." But then Leonard's breath hitches in a familiar, terrible way. When he lifts his hand from somewhere on Gaila's body, it's painted a shimmering red.

Jim, absurdly, thinks of the strawberry jam; it's the same thing all over again, except, except… it isn't. More afraid in his life than he has ever been before, Jim looks in his ex-girlfriend's face. "Gaila!"

She doesn't respond.

"Get her up!" Leonard snaps.

Jim lifts her in his arms but Leonard immediately takes her away. Her head knocks under McCoy's chin as she is shifted and that seems to rouse her. "Oh," she says, staring ahead blearily. The bright red on her shirt isn't part of the fabric; it's spreading. She rolls her head to look at Jim. "Jim, Jimmy. I… shot myself?" She sounds bemused. "Stupid… bullet… wasn't supposed to do that."

"Gaila," he manages to say again, something hard and painful, fear but worse, choking his voice; he is crying, though he isn't aware of it.

"You're not goin' to let him win," she murmurs. Jim takes her hand when she reaches for his. She squeezes his fingers. "Lenny's got me now," she says. "Finish it?"

He wants nothing more than to get her to a hospital. He thinks he is going to throw up. But Jim hears her, despite all, and tells his pale-faced lover, "Take her away from here, Bones, and don't let Spock come back in."

Leonard shifts her weight, silent, but nods. Gaila, oddly, hums under her breath from a moment. "Love you," she murmurs to the man she's always cared for, and then "I trust you, Jim."

Because he loves her too, he can't do anything less than what she wants.

When Leonard is on the terrace, meeting Spock halfway who pales at the sight of a bleeding Gaila, Jim shuts and locks the sliding glass door. He turns back into the house with Pike's lighter in his hand, checks the upstairs and then walks down the stairs to the first floor. One flick of the lighter's rolling flint and a flame is burning hot. A set of curtains, when he touches the fire to them, burns even hotter.


	17. Part Sixteen

**Title**: Sticks and Stones (17/18)  
><strong>Author<strong>: klmeri  
><strong>Fandom<strong>: Star Trek AOS  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Kirk/Spock/McCoy  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Sequel to Many Bells Down; Riverside 'verse AU. Khan is hell-bent on destroying everything and everyone James Kirk cares about until Jim surrenders the most important person of all—himself.

* * *

><p><strong>A Riverside 'verse fanmix is available for your enjoyment. It was intended to be a small, uncomplicated thing but alas my muse commandeered the project and now the mix is basically a picture book with a side of free music. You may learn some things you did not know about the characters; you may discover a hint or two about the future; or you may simply stare at the artwork and wonder why I don't have a life outside of writing. Overall, I hope it pleases! I recommend you take a look at it after finishing Sticks and Stones. It can be found here (writer-klmeri. livejournal. com 155846. html).**

**This last chapter & epilogue mark several events of great import:  
>- the end of what I now dub the Riversider 'verse Trilogy, which in its entirety is over 300,000 words and the result of countless hours devoted to writing labor;<br>- my farewell to these beloved characters for an unknown period of time, whereupon I may ponder some of their other untold stories;  
>- the long-awaited ONE MILLION word count as a burgeoning writer of two years; and<br>- tears. Because I actually cried after I wrote the last line.**

**Before we begin, let me express my heartfelt gratitude to those of you who came along for the ride. Without you, the readers, I wouldn't have had the courage to face the uphill battles that are part of writing and, more importantly, to keep telling Jim's story. Thank you.**

* * *

><p><strong>Part Sixteen<strong>

Khan's house is ablaze. Jim, in the foyer with his jacket sleeve to his nose, coughs violently against a thick curtain of smoke. He hadn't expected the house to catch fire so fast. Don't bigger structures take longer to burn? Unless the insulation in the walls is like tinder, made of something such as cotton, it's happening too fast. As he turns toward the front door, ready to flee into the flashing cop lights circling the gravel drive of the house, an unsettling sound skirts beneath the roar and crackle of the flames. Jim stills. Those few seconds of hesitation lend the fire an opportunity to drop a burning roof beam through the wide-set staircase. On instinct he jumps back and presses to a wall not yet touched by fire, knowing he cannot afford to linger and live.

The sound comes again, this time the unmistakable cry of a person.

His brain rejects the possibility at the same time his heart accepts it as true. He had checked the house carefully for others—upstairs first, downstairs second; no one is supposed to be trapped here, die here. Yet even as Jim thinks this, he cries out, "Where are you?"

Someone, coughing harshly, shouts, "_Here! H-Here!_"

But where? Sound has no direction in an inferno; it comes from everywhere.

A smoldering piece of fabric floats onto Jim's arm. He slaps it away. The acrid taste in the back of his mouth is familiar; the heat against his skin more so. He could be in the diner again, the one he's known since childhood, unable to move and barely able to stay conscious, while the world is consumed around him. He remembers, quite vividly, how Trelane had laughed as he walked away and left Jim to die. The nightmare was real then, and it is real now in a way Jim had forgotten he isn't prepared to meet.

"_HELP! HELP ME!_"

The terror is real too, both Jim's and the terror of the person trapped somewhere farther inside the house. With a last look at the door, in that moment, which is an almost welcoming escape route, Jim dives back into the hungry fire.

* * *

><p>Nyota has never felt so helpless standing by herself; she turns to watch the police cars fly down the driveway. At the same time Spock and Leonard round the corner of the large house. Gaila is limp in the doctor's arms. Immediately Nyota knows something awful has happened, something unplanned. The police car in the lead jerks to a stop, tires skidding and sending up a spray of gravel. Before it is even finished moving, a man leaps from the car and shoves his way into a crowd of people—house servants, a chauffeur, a gardener, and guards—standing at the edge of the drive.<p>

"What is this?" he demands.

Uhura darts past him, already thinking of the police's help, but he catches her arm. She hisses, "Let go, Khan!"

Khan takes a hold of her other arm and shakes her, baring his teeth. "Where is Kirk?" He doesn't seem interested in her at all.

Jim will be happy to learn she kept her promise. Khan doubles over with a grunt and a grimace of pain. Uhura, free of his hold, sprints toward the sheriff who is climbing out of his car. "We need an ambulance!" she yells.

Komack's eyes do fast sweep of her and the surroundings. Maybe it's the tone of her voice, he doesn't question why she would ask that. He simply leans down to jerk his radio receiver from its cradle and calls in an emergency code. Then Leonard is at the car, confirming Uhura's gut instinct, and they can all see and smell the blood. Nyota puts her hand to her mouth after looking upon Gaila, and her heart begins to pound in a hard, crazy rhythm.

Leonard eases Gaila to the ground, telling Komack as he does so, "Gunshot victim. You need to get a chopper out here now. If we go by road, she dies."

Komack is already on the radio again, relaying the message to have the Derby hospital send their helicopter. Khan, recovered from the blow to his genitals, strides into their small circle. "Arrest them!" he snaps.

Nyota has never seen Spock move so fast. Normally she thinks of him as a very calm person (which is a miracle given who the man is dating), but there is a frightening quality to his face when he latches onto the lapels of Khan's expensive suit jacket like the man might run away. "Sheriff," Spock states flatly, "you will arrest this man for kidnapping, attempted murder—" He lists other several charges she isn't certain she has heard of before. But if Spock thinks they are legitimate, then they must be.

"You overstep yourself," Khan says, amused, to Spock.

"Do you see that woman on the ground?" the lawyer lowers his voice to a deadly tone. "She is your fiancée, Mr. Singh, and she was handcuffed to a pipe in _your_ house and guarded by two men who intended to dispose of her by _your _order."

"You're speaking nonsense, Mr. Spock," Khan parries. "Gaila was in no danger when I left. You clearly accuse me based on your own prejudice."

Nyota resists the urge to applaud when Spock punches the man in the nose. "Break it up!" Komack roars when Khan's swings a retaliatory fist in Spock's direction.

Khan takes several steps back, tugs on the cuffs of his jacket, and removes a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at his bleeding nose. The look he sends Komack is piercing and authoritarian. "Kirk is here," he surmises. "You will find him, Sheriff Komack, and you will arrest him for trespassing." His eyes touch briefly upon Gaila's prone figure. "Also, for shooting my fiancée."

"You bastard!" Nyota drops the blanket she had taken from the backseat of the cop car to put under Gaila's head and launches herself at him, ready to peel his face off with her fingernails. "Jim would never do that!"

Spock catches her and tells her softly, "He is a fool, Nyota, and everyone here knows it. Let him be... for now." Spock addresses Komack then. "There are two men at the back of the house. You would be wise to take them into custody."

"The reason?"

"Other than the one I gave a moment ago, I believe they are the vandals you have been searching for."

Komack motions for three deputies loitering at the edge of the crowd to go and fetch the men. Nyota is disturbed that Khan shows no reaction to this, though he must realize his nefarious deeds are well on their way to being exposed. But she can give no more though to him and kneels beside Leonard.

"What can I do?" she begs.

Gaila moans and shudders.

"Keep her still," Leonard says. He is preoccupied with staunching her wound.

She remembers Pavel then but when she looks up to mention that Pavel may be injured as well, she spots Chekov standing off to the side by a row of landscaped hedges; he watches the house intently. Nyota calls his name. Pavel comes over slowly, stiffly, and with a slight paleness to his features. Before she can tell him to sit down, he tells her, "There is smoke."

Uhura swallows reflexively. Her eyes seek the outline of Khan's house.

So Jim has really done it... but he isn't out yet. _Damn his stupid, blond head. If he dies, I will bring him back to life and kill him again! _For Leonard's sake, she doesn't share that thought.

Gaila stirs, and Uhura strokes her cheek gently. "It's okay, Gaila. Don't move. We're here." She closes her eyes at the distant sound of a helicopter, feeling tears prick at the corner of her eyes. Thank God! Thank God the hospital responded so quickly.

"SHERIFF!" a deputy yells as he hurries back to their group, panting from his run. "Sheriff, fire! The house is on fire!"

Khan whirls around to look at his property with a surprised expression. Komack curses under his breath, grabs his receiver again and radios for the fire department. Within a minute, they can all see the orange glow of fire inside an upstairs window. Wisps of smoke leak out of various nooks and crannies and curl around the rooftop. They are blown away by the rush of air from the approaching helicopter as it makes a wide circle around the house, searching for a spot to land. They see the helicopter lower into the acres of trimmed lawn behind Khan's house. The deputy, who had barely caught his breath, runs back to meet it.

Next to her, Leonard lifts his head. She is taken aback by how vivid green his eyes are. Leonard tracks the progress of the medical team emerging from the helicopter first then moves on to stare at the flames rising from the house. But he says nothing and returns his attention to the injured woman.

Nyota moves out of the way when Gaila is carefully loaded onto a gurney. Spock almost steps past her to follow the gurney—to follow Leonard, she suspects—but seems to change his mind. He faces Komack and admits, "Khan is correct. Jim is in the house."

"Tell me something I don't know," the sheriff mutters grimly. He puts a hand on Pavel's shoulder and urges the young man to go to the hospital. Pavel shakes his head, clearly afraid, and Komack says something else to him. Head bowed in defeat, Chekov allows the sheriff to walk him to the helicopter.

Khan paces along an invisible line, hands tucked behind his back. The people who work for him huddle together between two police cars, obviously afraid to draw their employer's attention. They recoil when Khan suddenly stops moving. "Let it burn," he says harshly, as though this announcement needs to be made. "If James Kirk is inside, then let him burn with it! "

Nyota thinks he needs another kick, this time with the entirety of her strength behind it. _Wait until they have to sew your balls back on! _she fumes at him in her head.

Spock strips off his jacket and hands it to Uhura. At first she thinks he is going to have a brawl with Khan, but he strides past Singh like the man isn't there. That's when she realizes what it is he actually plans to do. "Spock!" she gasps.

Komack, returning from the departing helicopter, catches sight of the lawyer. To the deputy trotting beside him, he orders, "Stop that man!"

"Sir!" the deputy shouts at Spock. "Stop, sir!"

Komack reaches out and pops the deputy on the back of the head. "Words won't work! Bring him back here!"

"But, Sheriff," the wide-eyed deputy says in fright, "he cut down two men. They said he has crazy karate skills!"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Komack growls and starts after Spock himself.

But what happens next is a blur: just as Spock's foot falls upon the brick pathway leading to the front door, the house explodes into a massive ball of fire. Half of the roof caves in with a deafening crash. Everyone flings up an arm to shield their faces from flying debris.

Uhura is running before she even thinks about running because Jim—_Jim's in that house! _and, sweet Jesus, she doesn't want him to die. He's been her best friend for forever and a day; he was the only person who could make her laugh after her father died and the only boy who challenged her to a foot race during school recess. He still brings her cookies when she's moody. To lose Jim now is unthinkable when he has been a permanent fixture in her life for so long.

Spock won't be the only one going into that burning wreck. He'll have to fight her to be the first one!

But as she rushes headlong up the brick path, easily dodging Komack's attempt to stop her, the front door splinters with a sharp _crack _and black smoke pours from the new opening. Out of the thick, roiling cloud a man emerges, dragging another man. They gracelessly tumble down the brick steps into a heap.

Nyota doesn't hesitate. She falls to her knees beside them and rolls a hacking Jim over onto his back and kisses his filthy, black-streaked face.

"_Ack_, air!, holy, _ack-ack_, fuck, did you, ugh, Nyota?" What Jim is trying to say is incomprehensible.

"Jimmy!" she crows and hugs him.

He sucks in several more breaths. When he is able to speak properly, he complains, "Ew, Uhura, you kissed me!"

She gives his cheek another big, smacking kiss.

Jim struggles to push her away, having seen the man hovering over them. "Spock!"

Nyota's sense surfaces at last and she lets him go. Spock immediately drags Jim upright and takes his turn at cradling the man. Like her, Spock, she guesses, had been terrified of never seeing Jim again when the part of the house blew up and collapsed. Whatever he feels, he doesn't seem to mind sullying his clothes with the dirty, sweaty mess that is Jim Kirk.

A groan interrupts the reunion, and the second man—the one Jim had hauled out of the house—slowly uncoils from his fetal position. Uhura recognizes him under the bruises and black coating and sits back on her heels in surprise. Until now, she had not given any thought to where Frank Rand had been.

_The full circle of karma is amazing_, she thinks.

Someone shouts at them to get off their asses and away from the fire. Spock helps Jim stand and steadies him. Uhura, standing up without aid, sighs and grabs Frank by the back of his shirt. "Get up," she says.

"Can't," he responds.

"You're not dead, so get up!" After he climbs to his feet and wobbles like a newborn calf, Uhura tugs on his arm. "I don't want to die of smoke inhalation. Hurry up!"

Frank hobbles beside her to the nearest unmoving person, who happens to be Khan, and partly collapses against him. Khan shoves Rand away with a look of disgust. To their right, Komack asks Jim something, and Jim nods. Khan, seeing the interaction between the sheriff and the man he undoubtedly wishes was dead, narrows his eyes.

"You show concern for the criminal who set fire to my house?" Khan questions, and straightens into an intimidating presence. "Sheriff, I suggest you remember the duties of your job."

Komack turns to Khan, the look on his face belligerent (apparently he doesn't like to be criticized for his compassion). Rand however, half-bent at the waist as if he can't decide to sit down or faint, does the worst thing possible: he wheezes, "I saw him do it."

Jim stiffens. Khan looks triumphant.

Komack swallows down a cutting comment. "Frank," he says carefully, "are you sure?"

Rand glares everyone. "'Course I'm fucking sure! I was in the fucking bathroom when he used his cigarette lighter on a curtain! Saw him in the mirror—son of a bitch."

Jim opens his mouth, but Spock interrupts with "Rand is a known assailant of Mr. Kirk. His word means nothing."

"Why the fuck do you think I would lie about that!" Rand yells.

The sheriff sighs. "I'm afraid, Mr. Spock, in this case I can't dismiss the allegation. Jim..."

Jim moves away from Spock. "Don't sweat it, Sheriff. I won't resist."

Khan looks too pleased. Komack hesitates, a hand on the pouch that contains his handcuffs, but does not pull them out. "Get in," he says instead, pointing at his police car.

Jim wordlessly obeys. Spock follows him.

Uhura turns on Rand and kicks his leg. "He saved your life, you stupid bastard!"

"So?" Frank says, stumbling to a safe distance from her and spitting to the side. "Guess that makes us even."

Khan watches Kirk put himself into the backseat of Komack's car before giving them his attention. "I would be careful of what you say, Miss Uhura," he advises. "Your circle of friends seems to be greatly diminished after the events of today."

Damn but he's so cold. Why didn't she see what kind of man he was long ago, before he began hurting the people she loved? "Don't talk to me again, Khan. In fact, stay away from me and my friends—and that includes Gaila."

The man laughs soundlessly. "A pity about her," he purrs. "Such a waste of a lovely woman. In time, I might have actually wanted her."

Uhura believes she is well within her rights when she decks him.

* * *

><p>It is the day after Mr. Khan Noonien Singh's house burnt to the ground. The town of Riverside is shocked. There are rumors it wasn't an accident.<p>

"_Robert Wesley_," a voice says menacingly, "you had better get my son out of jail!"

The mayor had loosened his tie the moment he spied Winona Kirk come through the double glass doors of the Sheriff's Department. Despite the lack of a constricting presence around his throat, Wesley still has trouble communicating to the upset woman exactly how sorry he is Jim has been in a jail cell for the second day in a row. For his part, Komack is hiding in his office pretending to be very busy. The other occupants of the department watch the unfurling drama with undisguised fascination.

Blue eyes flashing, Winona breaches into the mayor's personal space until their faces are mere inches apart. "He's done nothing _wrong_, Mr. _Mayor_."

Bob visibly flinches at the use of his title. "Please, Win," he urges and lowers his voice after spying the stare of a man who looks suspiciously like a reporter, "can't we discuss this... elsewhere?"

"We. Can. NOT!" Each word is emphasized by a finger jabbed into Bob's chest. Winona's glare has cowed lesser men. "Let me see him!"

The mayor sighs heavily. "Winona, he set a house on fire... _after_ he broke into it. That's not 'nothing'. In fact, it's a lot of trouble I'm not certain he can get out of." ...Should he mention that he and Komack are on pins and needles waiting for word otherwise? Because, _truly_, they don't want to send Jim to prison. That was a risk of the plan Bob never liked.

Winona brushes past him as if she hasn't heard a word. "SHERIFF!" the woman bellows.

The door to the Sheriff's office remains stubbornly closed.

Winona grabs the arm of the nearest person with a shiny badge. "You," she orders, "tell that man he has ten seconds to get his drawers on straight and face me, or he'll have to arrest Mrs. Winona Kirk of Riverside for disorderly conduct in a public station!"

"Yes, ma'am!" the young deputy says too eagerly, hurrying off to do her bidding.

"Oh, Winona," Bob murmurs to her back with great fondness. "And you always say you don't know where Jimmy gets his temper!"

* * *

><p>The person Winona Kirk is riled about, namely her incarcerated son James Kirk, blinks sleepily as he rouses from a nap. Mindlessly, he rolls his weight to his opposite hip. Yet he doesn't lift his head from its current spot in someone's lap. Fingers gently comb through his hair.<p>

"Are you comfortable?" Spock questions.

"Mmm," Jim murmurs. All of his past experiences sleeping in a jail cell haven't been nearly this pleasant. Then again, he hadn't been partnered with someone who did not mind being his pillow. At that thought, his eyes fully open. "Why are you still here?"

Spock's fingers drift down to Jim's ear; a thumb caresses the delicate curve of its outer shell. "I am under arrest," his boyfriend answers mildly.

Jim sighs in memory. "Only you would volunteer to be arrested, Spock." He adds, "I'd have been fine, you know, by myself." He lifts a hand and lazily indicates his surroundings. "This is _my _special cell. Komack keeps it vacant if I'm not in it."

"It is unkempt," the lawyer remarks with faint disgust, inspecting the dirt on his hands he had picked up from the walls or the floor. "...An oversight, I am certain, on Sheriff Komack's part."

Jim draws his knees into his chest, wincing at the stiffness in his legs from lying in one position for too long. He discovers Spock's jacket draped over his torso and pulls it off, concerned. "Aren't you cold?"

"I believe you are in need of the extra material more than I."

"Put it on," Jim insists. "I'm fine now."

"No."

Jim sits up. "No is not an option. Look, your hands are turning blue!"

Not even a muscle twitches in Spock's face as he stares at the wall opposite their bench and stays stubbornly silent in light of the truth that his hands are, in fact, freezing.

Jim, wishing Bones was around to make the argument more elegant with dire, gruesome illnesses which result from excessive loss of body heat, grabs Spock's wrist and tries to shove his boyfriend's arm through the arm sleeve of the suit jacket. In the back of his mind, he wants to know where his own jacket—his father's leather jacket—is and that is safe. It hadn't been returned to him after the strip-and-search for weapons.

Spock does not struggle against him, but the moment Jim lets go of his arm to slide the coat onto the man's back, Spock quickly removes it from his person and replaces it around Jim's shoulders. Jim holds his eyes, letting Spock see that they are about to engage in a very physical tussle unless a compromise can be met. Spock does not balk from his intimidating Kirkian stare.

Jim is fully prepared to act (with deviousness, if necessary) when the slam of a heavy door, perfectly timed, steals his attention.

"JIMMY!" a voice shrieks down the narrow, poorly lit hallway of the cellblock.

At that familiar sound, Jim's eyes widen to the size of quarters. "Uh-oh."

"JAMES TIBERIUS KIRK!"

He doesn't know why she is shouting his full name, like he is hiding. His mother knows exactly which cell he is in; she's been to the station to bale him out more than once since his preteens—until, that is, he grew wise enough to call Gary first.

Which, what the heck? Hadn't he used his one phone call to tell Gary where he was? Jim clearly remembers Mitchell groaning at the news and saying, "Aw damn, Jim, I thought you'd grown out of this phase. Or were you just waiting until I came back to town to return to your old ways?"

Winona seemingly appears out of thin air in front of the bars of the jail cell. Jim, seeing her expression, hunches his shoulders in anticipation of a scolding. He is taken by surprise when, instead of asking him why he had set somebody's house on fire, her face crumples into quiet tears. Alarmed, Jim abandons the bench to grasp the cell's bars. Spock's coat falls to the floor, forgotten.

"Mom?" he asks, heart in his throat.

Oh, oh God. He hasn't heard from Bones. What if... Jim is grateful to have something to cling to. He presses his forehead against the cold iron, whispering tremulously, "Gaila?"

Winona's hands find his, cover them. "I'm sorry, Jimmy," she says through her tears. "It's not that. I haven't heard—oh, darn it!" She wipes angrily at her face. "It's no use getting upset," she chastises herself. After a brief moment, Winona steps closer to her son. "Jim, they refuse to let you go! Do they even have proof? Of course not!" Her eyes move past Jim to the man standing silently at his back. "What can we do?"

"Wait," Spock replies softly.

Jim suddenly understands her fear, and it relieves his own. "It's okay, Mom. I'm not going to jail."

She bangs a fist against the bars in frustration. "But you are in a jail!"

He grins.

She stares at him then, and slowly her expression changes. "What don't I know?" his mother asks ominously.

Jim works very hard to look innocence. "Know?" he echoes.

Her fingers tighten over his. "James Tiberius, exactly why are you in this cell?"

"Uh..."

"They said you burned Khan's house down!"

"Um..."

"Jimmy, you didn't! You were taking a nap when I left the Q's!"

"Pike did it!" he blurts out. Then he bangs his head against the bars in the disbelief that that just came out of his mouth.

His mother, too, apparently cannot believe it. "What!"

"I meant," he explains, "Pike _thought _of it. I may... have... actually committed the crime."

Boy is he glad to be separated from his mother by solid iron and a sturdy lock. When she shakes the bars like she wants them gone, Jim prudently puts distance between them.

"I did not raise you to be an arsonist!"

Jim tries to hush her. "Mom, Mom, okay, _calm down_—hey, I haven't confessed yet!" He wonders if any of the deputies are listening in. "Don't do it for me, all right?"

"My son is a criminal!" She sounds horrified. Funny, Jim thinks, how she's never acted this way during the other times he has been under arrest. Of course, she had told him on the day of his last arrest if he ever did anything that made her truly ashamed of him, he would see the business end of her shotgun. The threat actually scared him sufficiently that he decided being a law-abiding citizen was better than being dead and buried in Winona Kirk's backyard.

He waits until her fit of anger shows signs of abating. "Your son is just doing what's best to catch a real criminal."

"By sullying your own morals?" she demands.

Jim shoots a _help me out here_ look at Spock. The man shakes his head slightly as if to say _do I look stupid?_

"Jim!" Winona snaps. "You said Christopher Pike asked you do this... this _thing_."

At least she listened to his warning about eavesdroppers.

"Where is Pike?" his mother wants to know. She probably feels the need to beat him up, which Jim believes would be fun to watch.

Of course, he should probably answer her and assuage some of her fear. "If all is going according to plan," Jim explains mysteriously, "Pike and his fed-buddies are knee-deep in the ruins of Khan's house."

* * *

><p>On the third day of his extended visit to La Casa de Jail, Jim is lounging on his bench listening to his stomach growl. Over the rumble, he hears the returning footsteps of his boyfriend, who had gone to change clothes and shave, courtesy of a friendly deputy escort.<p>

"Hey, Spock," Jim says without taking his gaze from a long, zigzag of a crack in the ceiling. "Do you think the sheriff will bring us beer?"

"No, he definitely won't," the sheriff replies.

Jim falls off the bench in surprise and rubs at the side of his head sheepishly. "Oh hey there, Mr. Sheriff!" He looks past Komack expectantly. "Please don't tell me you moved Spock to another cell."

The older man sighs. "Common sense told me to separate the pair of you from the beginning but Mr. Spock assured me you would behave."

Jim grimaces. "I'm being blue-balled until further notice."

Komack mirrors Jim's grimace for an entirely different reason. "That is not information I need to know, Jim."

"If you're not here to talk about my abysmal sex life, then why visit at all?" Jim asks. He brushes off dirt from his pants as he stands up.

Without a word, Komack slips a key into the cell's lock and opens the door.

Jim, startled again, simply stares. He asks almost hopefully, "What about...?"

"Come and see" is the offer.

Jim cautiously ventures into the hallway. When Komack walks away, Jim follows him. The heavy door at the end of the cellblock is opened by a grinning deputy. Beside the deputy is a clean-looking Spock. "Jim," Spock greets him, eyes tired but unexpectedly full of relief. In that moment, Jim's hope brightens and lifts his spirits.

Their small group leaves the section of the department dedicated to hosting drunks and criminals; and Jim has never been happier to say goodbye to his cell. They step into the main center of the station at the same time a familiar voice rises in argument. Khan Noonien Singh, surrounded by three serious-faced men in suits, is told not to resist arrest. Someone puts his hands behind his back and handcuffs them together.

Khan tells the room at large, ominously, "You make a grave mistake. Release me, and I will be lenient."

"There is no mistake, Mr. Singh," one of the strangers remarks too casually. "Only you had access to the safe. You said this yourself, and therefore we must assume its contents belong to you."

"It is not mine! It was planted—"

The man shakes his head one of his companions and murmurs, "_Does he think we're fools?_"

"—by your own government! You Americans have done this to me!"

Another suited man spies Komack. "Sheriff, we need use of your facilities until the evidence can be safely transported to headquarters."

"By all means," Komack says with a wave of his hand. "We're glad to serve our country."

"FBI?" Jim asks.

"CIA. Some very sensitive government material was discovered inside Khan's safe while we were investigating an arson charge." Komack scratches lightly at his chin. "I don't have the clearance to know what it is, of course, but it seems like he's in the business of selling secrets... not that it matters if it's true or not. It gives the government legitimate reason to investigate Khan's other properties, financial records, overseas business deals—anything they want. Can you imagine what they might find now that their foot is in the door?"

Komack's half-smirk makes Jim slightly dizzy.

As Khan is being led to somewhere unpleasant (maybe Jim's cell can be Khan's cell too, Jim thinks with glee), he spots Jim and his face darkens and clears of expression at the same time. "Jim Kirk," he says too softly. A CIA agent orders Khan to move along because it's time they had a very nice chat. Khan ignores the order and locks onto Jim's eyes, pinning him with an unreadable stare. "Kirk," he repeats, then nothing else.

_So, it was you. You did this. _The unspoken words hang between them.

Jim doesn't confess under that dark gaze, but then again he and Khan both know he doesn't need to.

* * *

><p>"Jim, my boy!" Out of nowhere, once Khan has been led away to some back room, Bob hustles around Komack to take Jim by the arm. Jim is dragged to an un-crowded spot on the floor. He slings his arm around Jim's shoulders and says, "Smile!"<p>

Lights flash. Jim blinks rapidly, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. "What's going on?"

"We're putting you on the front page of the town newspaper."

"Oh." Jim pauses. "But why?"

"You and your friends caught the men who have been terrorizing our shop owners!" Bob says cheerfully.

More lights flash. Jim tries to back away but the mayor anchors him in place. A man asks for a minute or two to adjust the settings on his camera. In the interlude, Bob turns to Jim and accuses, "You're not smiling."

"I just got out of jail, I stink, and Komack's lackeys forgot to bring me breakfast." He glares at the closest deputy. "Also, I don't want to be on the front page of anything, Bob."

The older man's expression sobers. "Listen, Jim. I can understand how you feel, but it's either we make you into the town hero, or leave a gap the size of Kentucky in our story that Khan might be able to use against us. We have to endear you to the people of Riverside so they won't ask questions—like for instance," he leans in slightly to say, "what if Rand isn't making it up that you set the fire? And if you set the fire, to what purpose?"

"So it's all a game," Jim mutters.

"It has to be. Fight fire with fire!" the man beside him quotes, then flushes. "Er, no pun intended."

"Mayor Wesley!" someone shouts. "Can we have a comment?"

"I have only one," the mayor responds immediately, pausing to make certain people are paying attention. "Riverside owes a debt to James T. Kirk. Because of his heroic actions, our townspeople can walk the streets safely and our businesses can reopen their doors without fear of violation." He smiles at Kirk and shakes his hand without asking. "Thank you, Jim!"

Afterward, when Jim is able to escape the media's attention, he tells Bob that he doesn't want to take the credit for something he didn't do alone.

"I already asked Mr. Spock what he wished to be said on his behalf and he advised me that he had no pressing need to be affiliated with the capture of the criminals. I can't say I blame him," Bob continues on, overriding Jim's protest. "He's got to keep his nose clean of questionable actions for his future's sake. You have a bit of a wild and unorthodox history, Jim, so people wouldn't put it past you to break a law or two in the name of justice. But a man who bases his career on the laws of our country? That's ground to tread carefully." Wesley looks in Spock's direction, who is speaking to Komack. "Your partner would make a damn fine District Attorney some day. If he stayed here, we'd be lucky to have him."

Jim sways a little when Bob releases him, feeling vaguely as if he has bulldozed with too much information at once. Then, deciding politics are something to agonize over on another day, he stows away his opinion on the subject and seeks out Spock, more than ready to go home. No one has brought him news of Bones or Gaila and the more he tries not to think about it, the more worries crowd into his head.

He has almost reached Spock when someone catches his arm. "Kirk," a young man—a deputy with a likable personality—says, "phone call for you."

A call to that station? Oh.

Jim picks up the phone, saying, "Shit, Gary, I tell you I'm in jail and you can't even be bothered to come say hello, I'm not bailing you out this time?"

"_Jim._"

His heart skips a beat. "Bones?"

"Hey." McCoy sounds hoarse. "Sorry I'm late."

"No, no," Jim tells him in a rush, "you're fine! I mean, I was worried about...is—how—?" Suddenly he's stumbling over words and cannot breathe correctly.

Leonard says one phrase, and Jim sags without warning. Hands catch him before he topples over and support him. Grateful, Jim leans into Spock's chest, unaware that he is shaking. "Really?"

"Yes," Bones says.

He hears more than agreement in that one word. "It's not all good news, is it?"

"No." There is a pause; other voices in the background filter through the phone line, muffled. McCoy returns, saying, "Jim, I have to go. Are you coming here? ...Damn, I forgot. You're not still in jail, are you?"

"No," he answers quickly, "it worked. Khan's where he belongs."

"_Good_," the man says fiercely. "Call the hospital before you leave town and have them page me. I want to talk to you about Gaila first."

To prepare him, Jim realizes. He can only agree, "Okay, Bones, I'll call."

When the dial tone is a monotonous drone through the receiver, Spock removes it from Jim's two-handed grip and replaces the phone in its cradle. Jim turns in his boyfriend's arms and lays his forehead against Spock's collarbone.

"She's not dead," he says so quietly Spock has to lean in to hear the words.

Spock asks, equally quiet, "What else?"

"I don't know," Jim answers honestly, "but I won't let it matter. Gaila's alive."

* * *

><p>Just when Jim thinks he is never going to be able to leave the station, Robert Wesley announces, "It's been a long few days. Everyone, go home!"<p>

Beside him, Komack looks peeved that the mayor is taking command of his staff. Bob, not paying attention at all, idly pats the man's shoulder. "You too, Sheriff. Don't think we haven't noticed you sneaking drinks in your office."

"Brandy is medicinal," Komack growls. "Ask that McCoy fellow. He prescribed it as a cure-all." The way Komack eyes Jim probably means that Bones told the sheriff it was a cure-all for a man with a middle initial which stands for Trouble.

One of the government agents steps into the main room and hails Komack. Grim expression growing grimmer, Komack turns and trudges away to answer the summons. The mayor, once the sheriff is not around to protest, begins a doling out handshakes and congenial thanks to the tired law officers. When he reaches Jim and Spock's corner of the station, where they had been told to stay until Komack officially approved their release, Bob pats Jim's shoulder like he had Komack's.

"You've done good, Jim, and though many people won't know the true magnitude of the debt we owe you, I always will. Thank you, on behalf of us all." Perhaps seeing Jim's embarrassed expression, he adds, "Now that you're a champion of the people, maybe you can get rid of those damn Klingons."

Jim scowls. Spock considers first Jim's murderous expression then Bob's pleased one. "I have not heard of these... Klingons," the lawyer says somewhat apprehensively, as wise men are wont to be when dating Jim.

Jim crosses his arms. "Motorcycle gang," he says offhandedly, like it doesn't matter. His body language indicates otherwise.

"Jim's had a few run-ins with them before," Wesley tacks on. "They're a local nuisance. I'm surprised you haven't noticed their graffiti. Always trying to claim more territory." Bob shakes his head sadly. "I don't know who they think they're trying to take it _from_."

Jim can no longer contain his emotions. "Those two-bit pieces of—" He spies a female deputy looking in his direction. "—bullcrap! They think they're God's gift to motorcycles—freaking Road Warriors, ha! I've seen a one-armed man steer a moped better than one of those pansies!"

Bob stage-whispers, "During a race at a dirt-bike rally, one of them overtook Jim in the final round and put our boy in second. He's never gotten over it."

"He cheated!"

"Yes, well," Bob mumbles and peers down with great interest at his watch, no doubt realizing he has kicked over an ant hill. "Have to run now! Mayorly things to do." He backs away, leaving a furious Jim clenching and unclenching his fist beside a bemused Spock.

Komack, having caught the tail end of their conversation, wanders over and says pointedly, "Get out before I have to lock Kirk up again."

Jim stalks for the door.

"Keep an eye on him," Spock is advised.

"I cannot comprehend that one lost race would affect Jim so deeply," Spock muses. "Why has he not mentioned these Klingons before?"

"They're his enemy for life," Komack says darkly. "And I don't have time to deal with any more of Kirk's enemies. Khan's invoked his right to a lawyer . So unless you're representing him—"

Spock's eyes flash dangerously.

"—I suggest you take your boyfriend home and avoid any biker bars on the way."

* * *

><p>Jim steps out of the Sheriff's Department a free man. His bad mood evaporates with his first breath of fresh air, and he forgives Bob for bringing up the one name he can't stand to hear. He slaps a hand onto Spock's shoulder and says effervescently, "Congratulations on your own new arrest record, Spock!"<p>

Spock removes Jim's hand and pulls his car keys out of an evidence bag. "I am a lawyer, Jim, who would set a poor example if he was to be arrested for any reason."

"But..." Jim says, eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

Spock folds his jacket across his arm. "Komack understands this. I also told him, if he felt confused, I knew several people who would gladly 'un-confuse' him. I have been assured no paperwork was filed."

Jim trails, gaping, after Spock to the Silver BMW sitting in the parking lot. "Wait! You said what? And it worked?" Jim smacks a palm against the roof of the car to catch Spock's attention as the man unlocks the doors. "Then how come you spent three days in jail with me?"

Spock tilts his head like his lover is a curious creature to be studied. "I thought you might need the company."

* * *

><p>Spock is more exhausted than he looks, that much Jim can tell. So Jim does what any decent boyfriend would and coaxes the man to bed once they arrive at an empty apartment, which is closer to the highway than Spock's house.<p>

"I would rather come with you to Derby," Spock argues.

Jim kneads the tight muscles of Spock's shoulders. "I know you didn't sleep while we were downtown. Take a shower, rest. If, once I'm at the hospital, I think you need to be there, I will call you."

"Jim," Spock begins but his voice is heavy with weariness. No other words come.

"You've done plenty," Jim murmurs, brushing his mouth against Spock's. "Please?"

Spock relaxes marginally against him. "You require rest as well."

"Let my physician handle that" is his mischievous reply. He maneuvers Spock onto the couch. "I'm going to take a quick shower before I leave. Need anything?"

"No."

He gives Spock fifteen minutes of fighting sleep before the man passes out. Twenty minutes later, after Jim has had a hot shower and changed into fresh clothes, he tosses an afghan over his sleeping boyfriend and goes to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. Then he calls Bones. After listening to what the doctor has to say, and slumping over the kitchen counter, he gently hangs up and puts his head in his hands. It is some minutes before Jim picks up the car keys from the coffee table and heads to Derby Hospital.

* * *

><p>"Shit, you look terrible," Jim announces.<p>

Leonard, clearly as sleep-deprived as Spock, if not more, turns away from a coffee machine with a cup in hand to look at Kirk standing with one foot inside the doctors' lounge. "How'd you get in here?" His voice is roughened from a lack of sleep.

Jim lets the swinging door close on its own and crosses the room. "I know my way around. Bones..."

The doctor takes a last gulp of his coffee and pitches the empty cup into a trashcan. "C'mon, I'll take you to her."

He grabs Leonard's arm, stalling him. For a second or two, they say nothing and merely read the long hours of separation in each other's faces. Then Jim slips in close and wraps his arms around McCoy. Leonard holds him in a grip which is equally tight.

"Thank you, Bones. Thank you for saving her."

"How'd you know it was me?"

"Because of the way you said it on the phone—'she's going to be okay, Jim'. You would never make that promise unless you knew for a fact it was true—and the only way _that _would happen is if you personally took care of her."

"They didn't have anyone on site with the experience to handle the damage when we arrived. She was already crashing and couldn't wait..." he confessed. "I bullshitted about my paperwork already being processed and since several of 'em knew me and had seen me with Khan, they didn't think it prudent to argue about an available surgeon when a woman was dyin'. Thank God, too," the man finishes with feeling.

Jim kisses Leonard for all he is worth. "I love you, Bones. I've really never loved you more. I'll give you anything you want."

"What I want," McCoy says slowly and tiredly, "is to go back in time and tell myself to get rid of that gun. Gaila isn't dead, Jim, because we preserved her life but there are things that will never be the same for her again."

"I know," Jim says, swallowing against raw sadness. "But she has family. We'll help her through it."

Leonard takes his hand and squeezes his fingers. "Want to see her? She might be awake."

Jim nods and lets himself be led from the lounge to the ICU wing of the hospital.

* * *

><p>Nyota steps out of a darkened room at the same moment Jim and Leonard turn the corner of the hallway. When she sees Jim, she drops the empty plastic container in her hands and starts to cry. Jim hugs her to his chest and lets her grieve. Leonard gives them a moment together, walking away to a nurses' station.<p>

"Oh, Jim," Nyota sobs, "what did we do?"

He keeps rubbing her back but bites down hard on his lip for control, having asked himself the same question over and over since the moment he held his friend in his arms while she bled to death. "Ssh," he tells Nyota instead. "It's okay."

Eventually her crying wanes. Pulling out a wad of tissues from her pants pocket, Uhura wipes at her face and offers Jim one. He takes it and wipes his eyes. Sighing, she stoops down to pick up the plastic bucket. WIth a fleeting look at Gaila's room, Nyota turns back to Jim. "I'll get some ice," she says, a silent offer to let Jim see his ex-girlfriend alone.

Jim allows her to pass. Immediately Leonard is at his side again, and Jim feels less lost.

"She just had another dose of morphine, so don't expect much."

"If I can hold her hand," Jim whispers, "that will be enough."

"You know I never wanted children," Gaila sighs to Jim later when she is semi-conscious, but she cries anyway.


	18. Epilogue

**Title**: Sticks and Stones (18/18)  
><strong>Author<strong>: klmeri  
><strong>Fandom<strong>: Star Trek AOS  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Kirk/Spock/McCoy  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Sequel to Many Bells Down; Riverside 'verse AU. Khan is hell-bent on destroying everything and everyone James Kirk cares about until Jim surrenders the most important person of all—himself.

* * *

><p><strong>Please read Part Sixteen first!<strong>

**Epilogue**

The call comes on a Thursday when the emotional recovery from tragedy and hardship is beginning to become superseded by normal routines. Jim had been reading an article in the state newspaper which announced the court ruling that any business or land sale in Riverside was a null-and-void contract because it could not be proven if the original owners sold under duress as a direct result of the buyer's unlawful actions; as long as the owners paid their taxes, they were allowed to keep the sale money as restitution. Eugenics Corporation itself had been seized by the government and the paper hinted it would be dissolved into manageable divisions in order to protect the medical research and advancements which had already been underway. There was no mention of what happened to the more covert operations, such as the weapons program. Jim was wishing he didn't know about those operations because then he wouldn't wonder about whose hands they had fallen into.

When Jim picks up the phone, Komack doesn't mince words. "Khan escaped," he says, "during transfer to a pre-trial holding facility."

Kirk holds the receiver of the phone for a long minute, wordless.

Komack tries to sound confident but his tone falls short of convincing. "He'll flee the country, go somewhere extradition laws can't touch him. With his assets frozen, he has limited options."

_But not limited connections_, Jim silently supplies, thinking of the multitude of terrorist organizations in the world who would welcome a kindred spirit—and a smart leader—with open arms.

"How long?" he asks, not needing to phrase the entire question.

_How long are we safe?_

"We can hope forever," Komack answers grimly.

Khan isn't a man to abide by forever, Jim thinks.

He thanks the sheriff for the news and hangs up the phone. His eyes track to the open window of his apartment, linger there, staring at the neighborhood beyond. When a cloud passes across the sun, casting a shadow over the day, Jim shudders and quickly closes and latches the window. As an afterthought, he lowers the blinds too. For the rest of the afternoon and, in fact far longer, Jim will be unable to shake the frightening premonition Khan Noonien Singh is simply around a corner, waiting to take his revenge.

* * *

><p>After sentencing for their crimes, the two men hired to terrorize Riverside will be killed in a prison yard riot. It would become apparent later that no one—not the inmates or the prison guards—had recognized the assailant. A bloody knife will be discoverd wrapped in discarded laundry linens some days following the incident.<p>

By the end of the year, Frank Rand of Riverside will go missing and never be found. Some people will believe he was ashamed enough to move away; others, like the bartender Cupcake who knew Frank as a regular haunt in his bar, will suspect foul-play. Only his family and the few friends he had left will mourn his loss.

A decade in the future, Jim will pick up his mail one day to find an unlabeled package. Inside it will be a tarnished gold watch and a rusted deputy's badge with the name of Rand carved away. Jim Kirk will know then exactly what that means, that is the beginning of what had never truly ended, and be afraid. But only for a moment.

Alas, that is not this tale.

* * *

><p><em>several weeks after the defeat of Khan Noonien Singh...<em>

The Enterprise Diner's entrance bell chimes. A man pauses in the doorway, silhouetted by a sunny day, and squints his eyes to adjust to the dimmer lighting of the diner's interior. At his feet, he carelessly drops a bulging sack which has not been fully zipped across the top; one long sleeve of a blue shirt has pushed its way through the parted zipper and its cuff dangles down to brush against the floor.

At the far corner of the diner, a smile lights Jim Kirk's face. He waves the man toward his booth and invites him to sit down. Jim is not alone: his company consists of Leonard McCoy and Spock, who are seated beside him and across from him, respectively. Forgetting the bag, the newcomer lumbers slowly in their direction. When he arrives, he greets the three men with tired lines creasing his face.

Jim gives him a look of sympathy. "Long drive?"

"Aye," Montgomery Scotty agrees with feeling. "Woulda been worse if I'd actually done t'driving. Bus was packed." His eyes take in Leonard's cup of coffee and linger on Spock's small dish of apple pie. "Is there any left?" he asks wistfully.

"Mom can find some pie for you," Jim promises him. "She will be happy you're here."

Mollified that he won't be left dessert-less, Scotty sighs and scrubs idly at the dust coating the thin hairs along his arm. His head cranes around as he takes in the diner's surroundings—air-conditioned cool, quiet, seemingly unchanged since his last visit. After a moment of absorbing the diner's tranquility, he blinks as though his head is finally clearing of weeks of academia, wistful inventions, and more recently a painfully cramped bus ride. "So," the man wants to know, taking a stab at conversation, "what'd I miss?"

McCoy laughs. "How much time do you have?"

Scotty is uncomprehending. "I dunno..."

Leonard levels an incredulous look at him, leaning forward on his elbows as he says, "Don't you read the newspapers?"

"During class?" Scotty asks, astonished. Outside of the university, there doesn't seem to be a world for Montgomery Scotty. His companions, perhaps, realize in this moment it is simply amazing luck the man has found his way back to Riverside at all.

Jim chuckles lightly and uses his spoon to migrate Spock's dish to the middle of the table, helping himself to a piece of the apple pie. "Don't worry about it, Scotty. Things are pretty good right now and that's all that matters." He salutes to no one in particular, it may appear, when he is really mocking Fate. (Not that Jim would tell anyone that, especially Bones or Spock. They would mock him right back.)

Scotty stares at Jim, opens his mouth to ask what exactly he _did _miss when a loud bang from the kitchen ruins the quiet atmosphere of the diner. He looks curiously in that direction.

"Sulu's trying to make meatloaf one-handed," Leonard explains.

Even Spock grimaces, who has never tasted the meatloaf but claims the smell alone is unappetizing.

"It's Pavel's fault," Jim says. "He hovers over Sulu, and Sulu doesn't know how to cope with the mother-henning. I think he's planning to feed the meatloaf to Chekov to incapacitate him for a while."

"Jim," McCoy muses wonderingly, "where do you come up with these ideas?"

"But it's the truth!"

"No, you're projecting your plots on to other people! Sulu isn't going to poison his friend."

"It was Sulu in the kitchen with the meatloaf," Jim counters. "You're not very good at CLUE so how would you know?"

"Please," Spock interrupts with a painstakingly blank expression, "did we not come here to seek peace?"

"You just wanted to satisfy your sweet tooth," Leonard accuses.

Luckily, before the argument can devolve further, someone exclaims, "Who left this in the middle of my floor?"

Scotty's face turns a peculiar shade of red. He peeks around the corner of the booth at the woman who just discovered his abandoned traveler's bag. "Nyota," he says quickly, "I dinnae mean to leave it there!" The man scrambles to fetch the item blocking the waitress's path.

Her face clears of annoyance. "Scotty!" she says happily, "you're back!"

His blush deepens and his shoes scuff the floor as he shuffles back to Jim's booth toting the obviously unwieldy sack.

Jim whistles and toes the bag with his shoe. "What's in that?"

"Laundry."

Spock's eyebrows fly upward. Leonard ponders, "They don't have washing machines at college, like newspapers?"

Scotty's response is a low, embarrassed mumble which is immediately overridden by Uhura's too-sweet "He can do his laundry at my house." Her statement, along with her look, dares anyone to contradict her. Leonard shuts up and focuses on drinking his coffee.

Jim, as he has been told on multiple occasions, doesn't know when not to contradict a woman. He looks between his female friend and his male friend, bemused. "Why would Scotty drag his laundry over two hundred miles just to do it at your place?"

"Jim..." one boyfriend warns.

Uhura's almond-shaped eyes narrow in warning. "Are you asking about my business, Jim? Because I could swear you're _asking about my business_."

Jim, more confused than ever, doggedly pursues the subject. "What does that even mean?" Haven't they known each other since, well, forever? Why wouldn't he be interested in her business?

"Jim."

Kirk ignores the attempt at intervention by the second boyfriend. He straightens his posture and casually slings an arm along the top of the booth. "If Scotty needs somewhere to do his laundry, he can come over to the farm—"

Scotty, sneaking a glance at the waitress, begins to stammer. A fire may have started to burn in Nyota Uhura's eyes.

"Oh God," the first boyfriend mutters to the other one, "it's like a train wreck. I don't wanna watch but I can't look away."

"Our proximity to this metaphorical train wreck concerns me greatly" is the instant reply. But, upon looking for an escape, the two boyfriends quickly realize they are trapped where they are.

As if Jim's foot isn't already halfway to his mouth, he ignorantly shoves it all—foot, ankle and leg—in there too. "—I mean, what makes your place better than mine? It's not like Scotty's your _boyfriend_ or _living _with you or something."

Jim is saved only by his quick reflexes. When Uhura dives at his head, snarling, Jim launches himself sideways out of his seat with a surprised squawk and lands on his back upon the floor, one leg under the table and the other leg still crooked awkwardly over the booth seat. Leonard magnanimously gives the truant leg a shove so it can join its partner under the table. Nyota, pissed at having her attack thwarted, almost rips a chunk out of the back of the booth. She then grabs the nearest object to hand. It's Leonard's unused spoon.

Jim laughs nervously when she brandishes the utensil at him. "What'd I say?"

"Ah, Jim, Jim," Leonard says with mock-disappointment. "You might want to run."

Jim transfers his gaze to Spock, but the man is studiously folding a paper napkin and ignoring signs of Jim's distress. Since it seems Kirk isn't likely to have any help from either man—and Scotty is slowly inching toward the kitchen where, Jim guesses, he believes he might be safe—Jim does what any smart person would do. He scuttles like a crab behind the diner counter and prepares to fight for his life. Armed with a salt shaker and a flyswatter, he waits in anticipation of Uhura's next attack.

But none comes.

The kitchen door swings outward as Winona Kirk enters the dining area of her business; she barely spares a glance for her son crouched next to an open shelf of condiments, and retrieves a dish towel.

"Mom," Jim whispers furiously. "_Mom!_"

Winona finds a spray bottle of anti-bacterial cleaner and twists its nozzle to the ON position. After he calls her name twice more, growing progressively louder each time, she stops what she is doing (wiping down the countertop), to say, "What, Jim?"

"Can you see Uhura? Point out her direction!" he hisses urgently.

"Nyota," Winona calls instead, "Jimmy wants to speak to you."

Horrified, Jim waves the flyswatter with the frantic motion of _desist immediately! _"Don't tell her to come over here! Are you crazy?"

Winona finally looks at him, clearly exasperated. "This is not a warzone, Jimmy. Now get off the floor unless you plan to clean it."

He stands up and puts aside his weapons with a faintly mutinous expression. "See how you like it when she's killed me," he tells her.

Except when Jim turns to face the steaming-mad waitress, she is neither steaming-mad nor interested in killing him. In fact, she has taken his spot next to Leonard and somehow coaxed Scotty to sit down again. The four people look like they are having an interesting, pleasant conversation. Scotty emphasizes how much he loves his physics class with excited twitches of his hands.

Jim realizes he has been tricked. Nay, not only tricked but betrayed! Uhura has effectively ousted him from his favorite spot and, worse yet, replaced him.

A rag appears at the edge of his field of vision, along with a bottle of Windex. "Don't neglect the bottom half of the windows," his mother reminds him pointedly.

And now Jim has been relegated to window-cleaning duty. Clearly Nyota Uhura is an evil genius.

Jim puts on his saddest face and stares at the back of Leonard's head, but to no avail. Spock says something to Leonard and in response Leonard's shoulders shake with laughter. Suddenly Winona's hand is on his arm.

"Look at how happy they are," she remarks softly.

Jim's face lightens as he considers that truth. "I'm glad," he says, "that they can be happy here."

"Not just here, baby," Winona clarifies, "_w__ith you. _You make the difference; for most people, not just Leonard and Spock, I think you always will."

He smiles, his heart full, and turns to her. "Can I take you out to dinner?"

"Of course! That would be wonderful."

Jim kisses her cheek. "I love them, Mom," he confesses, "but I really, _really _love you."

"Oh, Jimmy," Winona says, her eyes shining, "I love you too."

_-Fini_


End file.
